Sins of the Father: The sequel: Part 2
by Rosettaston3
Summary: This is the sequel to Sins of the Father. HarryCentric, this fic will continue where Sins  left off and explore as well his changing relationship with his children, former wife, and of course, Ruth.  As such, it will include Romance and Angst, too.
1. Chapter 1

**Sins of the Father (Part 2)**

-1-

_ 3 weeks later..._

"That's it, Graham. _Squeeze_. Good. Now throw the ball to your father."

Sitting across from his wheelchair-bound son, Harry extends his arm and easily makes contact with the ball._ Thwap!_

"Excellent!" The therapist says before Harry can say the same. But his smile says it all. Not only is his son doing well in therapy, he's actually smiling. At him. Granted, the smile is a bit crooked due to the stroke, but to Harry, it's beautiful. And just as miraculous as Graham's first smile as newborn all those years ago. Harry continues to beam, the years disappearing from his face.

"Ok." The physical therapist says, breaking into Harry's thoughts. "You're done for today. Great work, Graham. You're really making progress!"

"Yes," Graham says. "Ok."

"Only ok?" Harry asks, still smiling across at his son.

Graham shrugs a bit, one shoulder noticeably higher than the other. "Ok. Not. Great." He says, articulating each world slowly.

"It _is_ great," the therapist chimes in. Her blonde hair cut into a bob, swings along with her enthusiastic nod. Harry nods emphatically as well.

"It is." Harry says, getting up and going over towards his son. "You are, you know. Doing great." Then putting his hand on the wheelchair, he says, "I'll take him back."

She nods. "Tomorrow, then. Same time. Same place." Smiling, she leans towards her patient. "Slap me five!" And she raises a hand expectantly.

In response, Graham easily raises his left hand.

"Oh no, you don't," she says, grinning. "_Right_ hand."

Graham smiles again. And with some difficulty manages to raise his right hand, the side affected by the stroke. His eyes fix upon his hand and slowly he makes contact with the young woman's hand. Not exactly a slap but contact nevertheless.

"Good boy!" She says, her hair swinging again.

At her words, the young man cringes and catches his father's eye. Neither man say anything until they are out of earshot. "I know," Harry says, bending down and speaking into his son's ear, "you're not a boy. Nothing could be further from the truth." Pushing the chair into an area with a few chairs set aside for residents and guests in the rehabilitation centre, he sits in one of the chairs facing Graham. A sign directly above the two men reads 'Just Do it!' along with an illustration of men in wheelchairs playing rugby.

"You're not a boy." Harry says again, this time in earnest. Then his face softens a bit. "In fact," he says, "I think she rather has a crush on you."

Graham's eyes open. Then slowly shakes his head.

"I do." Harry says in all seriousness.

The young man shakes his head again.

"Why shouldn't she?" he asks. "You're handsome and smart and working hard and besides-"

Graham flaps his good hand and Harry stops suddenly. His gaze follows his son's who looks down at his own damaged body. And when he lifts his eyes to meet his father's again, Harry is jolted by the pain and frustration reflected in his son's eyes.

"Listen to me," Harry says, leaning in closer, his voice dropping a notch or two, "you're going to get out of that chair for good. And your speech will come back. All the way back. Of this I have no doubt." And he nods for good measure, "And so will everything else."

His son nods, his eyes not quite meeting his father's.

"You ok?" Harry asks.

Another half-nod.

"Tired, then?""

Intelligent grey eyes lift back to his father. A few moments later, he pushes out the word. "Yes."

Getting up, he says, "Let s go back to your room. Which it won't be for much longer, you know. That's how well you're doing." And he nods for good measure. " You know," he says before pushing his son down the hall, "your speech is really coming back, too."

There is no response from his son, not even a half-nod. Standing behind his son, Harry leans down and says into the young man's ear, "I couldn't be more proud of you than I am right now."

His son extends his left foot and the chair stops. "What is it?" Harry asks, more than a bit concerned.

The words are slow in coming. But when they do, they are crystal clear. "Thank. You."

Harry rests his hand on his Graham's shoulder for a long moment before removing it almost reluctantly. Then clearing his throat, he wheels his son back to his room.

* * *

Although only away from the Grid for little more than three weeks, it seems a lot longer when Harry finally does return. And for the first time that Harry can remember, the glass box looming before him and the world he knows so well seems strange. A lifetime ago. He blinks a bit at his desk now vacated by his temporary replacement, Sir Richard Dolby. The desk is clean save for a few sheets of paper on it. In fact, nothing looks different. Or changed. Yet everything is. He stares down at his desk for a moment longer before actually stepping into his glass cubicle. To his surprise and consternation, the off-kilter sensation doesn't fade. Not even when he sinks down into his chair and tries it out for size. It too is as he left it. He shakes his head a bit trying to remember if he had ever felt this way after a prolonged absence from the Grid. But even after Tom shot him years ago, even after his painful rehabilitation and time off, that return felt right. Where he belonged. Unlike now. And despite his son doing better than he had dared hoped, and those nightmarish first few days of sleeping at his son's bedside hoping for a miracle were now in the past, his office still does not feel like his own. Perhaps, Harry tells himself, the enormity of so much happening in so short a time is the culprit. After all, everything and everything had changed. Except of course, for the one constant.

_ Ruth._

This in itself is ironic, he knows, given the metamorphosis of their relationship, also in just three short weeks. Looking through the glass and at the petite figure only a few feet in the distance, he schools his features into his work face. But he still gazes outward, sure that she can feel his eyes upon her even though her back is turned from him. In fact, he knows she can. He doesn't exactly know how he knows this but he does. _Come on. Turn around_, he thinks, willing her to do just that. Or come into his office. Or just get up and walk past him and glance his way, her lovely eyes meeting his if only for a moment. _Anything_, he thinks, still staring at her through the glass. And he knows that when she does, things will right itself once more. Orient him to the world he used to know so well. Here. At his desk. Keeping his officers and the world at large safe from those who commit unspeakable acts upon their fellow man.

But his touchstone continues to lean into her monitor, headset on, attending to the job at hand. Outside. Yet inside his heart. His mind. And his bed. He manages not to smile at the last, but cannot still the trill of excitement that courses through his body especially down below thinking of her. With him. He shifts a bit and clearing his throat, picks up a piece of paper. And forces himself to focus upon it. And very nearly succeeds until a shadow fills the threshold.

She is standing there. And smiling at him, a piece of paper in her hand as well.

His world rights itself once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sins, part two. (And my heartfelt thanks for your continuing interest -and feedback- in this story**.)

-2-

Since his return to the Grid, Harry's days are changed in subtle but important ways. Lunchtime, no longer just an opportunity for a legitimate drink with a colleague at a pub or club, now is an opportunity to spend time with his son in the rehab centre. There, he either actively participates in Graham's therapy or simply cheers him on in his efforts. Harry's evenings have been transformed as well. No longer does he stay at the Grid until all hours of the night simply because it's better than the alternative: going home to an empty house except for his dog Scarlet (who's actually still with former colleague and friend, Malcolm); and a bottle of good malt. And his memories, most of them unpleasant.

Now he actually looks forward to the end of the work day. His son and daughter need him; and even more incredible, they appear to actually look forward to seeing him. So every night without fail, he sees them. And wonder upon wonders, he sees Ruth after that. Sometimes at his house. Or her house. His bed or hers. None of it really matters as long as he's with her. Together. And despite their time at the Grid or perhaps due to this very proximity, his evenings now beckon to him, a beacon of wonderment. Miraculous, is how he often thinks of the way his world has changed. Simply miraculous.

Of course, the logistics of being with his children and the woman he loves is still being worked out. So far, however, whether he eats dinner first with Ruth or more likely after his visit with his children, it's fine. More than fine. And even on those occasional nights where the other goes home to their own place first, it all seems to work out just fine, too. But on those nights when Ruth insists on taking the bus home to her place, he wonders if she is doing it to simplify his life a bit; perhaps as well, he thinks, she needs some return to her daily routine before their lives were so drastically, albeit happily, changed.

Tonight it is one of those evenings. Ruth, having left work before him, is now he hopes, eating dinner and relaxing at her place after their workday. A quick phone call assures him of just that. Smiling, he flips his mobile shut just before he enters the rehab centre. Outside his son's room, and all the other patients' rooms, dinner trays are lined up, waiting to be taken away by hospital staff. Taking a quick peek under the stainless steel lid, he is comforted: Graham has done more than a respectable job despite the rather unpalatable appearance of the tray's contents. Replacing the lid quietly, he wonders how he can replace some of the centre's food with Ruth's cooking. Perhaps he thinks, it would afford him a good way to actually introduce Ruth to his children, Catherine's brief encounter with Ruth weeks ago notwithstanding. Mulling the last over, he nearly bumps into Jane, his former wife and mother of his children.

"Sorry," he says.

"Hello Harry," she says her coat on, "glad you're here. This way Graham will have someone with him."

Uncharacteristically, Harry decides not to challenge that statement as he would have done so before Ruth. Before Ruth, he would have looked for not-so-hidden meanings; perhaps he would have deserved them, too. But now, everything's changed. Now there's Ruth. In addition, his relationship with his ex is a lot more civilized since their son's stroke. Besides, he notes, Jane is smiling at him, so she probably didn't mean to infer he doesn't see his son enough, a prevailing and mostly true, grievance of hers.

He stares across at her. Her lipstick, he also notes, is bright red, much brighter than usual. In fact, he remembers that throughout their unhappy marriage, she rarely wore much make-up, if at all. And those rare times that she did, it was muted. At any rate, her face appears paler than usual to him as well; maybe, he tells himself, he's just not used to her wearing lipstick especially such a vivid colour. Either that, he feels with a stab of atypical sympathy, she's probably tired. Exhausted even, worrying about their son. "Yes," he says, allowing his better half to emerge, offering her a genuine smile. "Good timing, indeed. How are you?" he asks before turning to his son seated in his wheelchair and exchanging smiles with him.

"Fine. Thank you." She answers a beat or two later.

Another man would not have noticed. But Harry is not another man. He jerks his head away from his son to his ex-wife. But she's merely smiling at him, her lipstick even more jarring than before. Her eyes, now as bright as her lipstick it seems, appear to fix upon him.

But he only smiles back at her. "Good." He says and nods. But before turning back to his son, he files it all away for later.

* * *

But when later comes, his thoughts are not on his former wife. "You look familiar," he tells the woman standing in her doorway before pulling her into his arms.

She laughs softly before kissing him back. "Have you eaten?" She asks, pulling back from him and ushering him into her place.

He shrugs.

She shakes her head. "That's a no, then." She sighs. "Harry. What am I going to do with you?"

"Well," he says, and gives her his most charming smile, "I could think of a few ..."

"I meant dinner."

"So did I, " he says. And pulls her to him again.

** xoxo**

Still later, both are in her bed, his arms around her. She's playing with one hair on his chest, wiry and longer than the rest, twirling it around her finger. Or at least attempting to do so.

"Ow."

"Sorry, "she says. But not very contritely, it seems to him. Grabbing the offending hand, he kisses it before placing it somewhere else much more agreeable.

She laughs. "You're insatiable, you know."

He smiles. "Well, we have a lot of time to make up for."

"I see," she says before kissing him. He rolls over on top of her, tucking her beneath him. His face inches from her, his lips brush against hers. She reaches up for him and he shifts a bit.

His mobile rings.

Both heads turn in unison towards the interloper. "Bloody hell," he says. And stretching out an arm, reaches for his mobile on the end table. Then reading the display, he rolls off of Ruth and flops over onto his back, showing her the display. He shrugs; she nods. Both settle back into their respective pillows.

He clears his throat. "Hello. Catherine. How are...Catherine? What? Slow down. Is it Graham? ... No? Are you...Slow down...Catie, I can't understand you... What is it? " He barely registers a cool hand on his arm before he slips out of bed, going over to his clothes on the chair in the corner. "No. No. You can't. I mean… I'm not home. But I can…slow down. ...She ...what? Are you sure? No. ...Good God. No. ..Just stay there. I'm coming over... Just stay there, ok? ... Yes. Of course. But you just stay there. Catie? It doesn't mean necessarily...you don't know that...no one can ...all right... calm down...I'll see you soon." In seconds it seems, he is dressed except for his socks and shoes.

Ringing off, he faces Ruth, her eyes wide, hand on her chest. "For God's sake, Harry. What's happened?"

"It's Catherine." And he sighs.

"I know." She says. "But what's happened to her?"

He shakes his head, tucking his shirt into his trousers. "No. Not her, actually. It's...not her."

"Then who? Not Graham?"

He shakes his head. "Oh, no, thank God. No. Sorry." Grabbing his socks, he sits down in the chair to put them on, glancing up at her. "It's ...uh...Jane, actually. Apparently, she's ...she's ill. I'm sorry. I have to go. Catie's in bad shape. Hysterical, really."

"How ill?" she asks, getting out of bed and reaching for her dressing gown.

Halfway down the stairs, he turns back to her "Cancer." And he sighs.

A minute or so later, he's buttoning up his coat, keys in hand. "I'm sorry," he says. "But my daughter..."

"Oh, Harry." she says. "Please. Just drive carefully. Please. " Then reaching up, she flips his upturned velvet collar down.

He nods before a final squeeze of her arm. And then he's gone.

She shuts the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the angst. I really am. But just as Harry demanded an epilogue, SINS 2 demands this. Still, I know that there IS a light here...somewhere up ahead. So many thanks for staying with Harry & Co. 'till he finds it. ;-)**

Sins: The sequel

-3-

The drive to his daughter's flat takes less than 20 minutes, but for Harry it's interminable. Images of his former wife's pale face, her too-bright lipstick, and the false note in her voice all flit across his brain underscored by the hysteria in his daughter's voice. Gripping the wheel, he glances at the clock and speedometer, then the windshield and beyond. A misty rain and slick road rise up to greet him as the miles rush by, and he hears Ruth's parting words to him. _Just drive carefully. Please._

Ruth.

He sighs. He had hoped to introduce, really introduce her to his grown children and make them understand everything that she means to him. Get to know her. Respect her. Hopefully even care for her. He almost smiles but Jane's pale face looms in front of him again with her unnaturally bright eyes and too pale face.

He shakes his head even as he shrugs inwardly. He's a realist, his very livelihood a stark reminder of the fragility of life. Someone, he knows, somewhere, is suffering. Sometimes due to the deliberate acts of others. Others due to the very capricious nature of life itself. And it almost does not matter to him why. He just does what he can. Still, innocents die. Children orphaned. Lives ruined. Often for no other reason, he supposes, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He's seen more than his share of it in his business.

And now his personal life as well. And he's well aware there is no real reason why his family should be spared from the vicissitudes of life, either. There's nothing, he knows, unique about him; no totem to protect him or his family from bad luck or fate. Still, he cannot help but feel that lately he and those he loves has had more than their share of bad luck. But then how to account for Graham being snatched from the jaws of death? And getting stronger every day? He shakes his head once more. Again, he can find no rhyme or reason. All he does know is just when things were improving, the fickle hand of fate has dealt another hand. And from the looks of it, a bad one.

Still, he's not a man who folds easily. And he focuses upon what he can possibly say to his daughter to comfort her. What the future will now hold for his former wife. His children._ Their_ children, he chides himself. An unbidden question rises up to the surface, and he grips the wheel even tighter. What if, his brain trills, _what if his son already knows?_ What if Catie told him? Or even Jane? Would they do that? Surely not, he thinks, given his son's vulnerable state, both emotional and physical. Despite Ruth's parting words, his foot presses down on the accelerator, but it fails to block out Jane's voice, her face, and the horrifying image of his children without their mother. He mentally kicks himself for not really paying attention, a bitter irony for a man whose very business depends on doing so. And despite his belief that he was doing just that with his children, he feels somehow he's failed. Abysmally. Again.

Nevertheless, he's determined to do better. Be better. A better father. It's the reason he's standing in front of his daughter's door on such a damp and miserable night. Squaring his shoulders, he rings the bell. _Pay attention,_ he commands himself. _Pay attention._

The door opens almost immediately. "Dad," she says, her chin high. "Come in." Despite the puffiness of her face, her voice is clear, her shoulders back, not unlike her father's. "God, it's awful out," she says, shutting the door behind him. "Would you like some coffee or tea?" She moves to take his coat. "I have decaf," she adds.

"Catie," he says. And reaching out, places a hand on her shoulder.

As fragile and delicate as tissue, she falls apart under his touch. And speaking unintelligibly, she holds onto him much like she had when her brother Graham's life hung in the balance mere weeks ago.

"Shh. Catie, shh," he murmurs, rubbing and patting her back, wishing he could do more. So much more. But to his amazement, it seems to be enough. At least for the moment. She stops crying. Pulling back and swiping at her face with the back of her hand, she manages to croak out, "God, I'm such ….a mess. I..."

"No," he says, softly. "You're not. You're understandably upset." And his coat still on, he leads her to the couch and sits her down.

"Dad," she says, swiping a hand across her face again, "I'm sorry I dragged you here. At this time of the night. I...I ... wasn't thinking. I..."

"Of course you should. I'm glad that you did." And he smiles gently at her.

"You want something? Coffee? Tea?"

He shakes his head. "No." And he pats her hand. And waits.

She doesn't say anything for a long moment. Then she looks up at him, her red-rimmed eyes meeting his. "Mom has breast cancer. Stage 4."

* * *

His strong hand is exceedingly gentle, his touch as light as a feather. Almost as delicate as the flutter inside his wife's belly.

_"There."_ She says. "_There_." She moves his hand up a bit to the left. "Feel that?"

"I don't..." Then his head jerks up at her. "Is that...?" His eyes open in wonder, his smile incandescent.

She nods. "Yes. Our baby."

"Amazing," he whispers, his hand now resting over the precious spot. "Miraculous."

"It is," she says.

He leans over to kiss it.

"Especially," she adds, "since you are rarely home."

He stiffens a bit, his lips barely making contact with her skin.

"You are going to try to be home more after the baby's born, aren't you?"

He looks up. "Jane," he says quietly, "You know I'm here as much as I can be. That the nature of my -"

Tugging her shirt down over her expanded belly, she says, "Well,_ this_ is the nature of _our_ business. _This_ matters too, you know." And she looks down at her belly before looking up at him again.

He sits back a bit on their bed. "Of course it does. Don't you think I know that?"

"Sometimes I'm not so sure."

"Jane," he says again and manages not to sigh outright.

"Well, will you? Be home more? For our child?"

"As much as possible, I will."

Her response is to reach for the remote and flick the television on. The lambent light casts a shadow upon their faces, both now silently staring outwards towards the screen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you for your continuing interest, comments and feedback for this fic; it's truly appreciated! Disclaimer: Kudos owns the show and characters. (I just own what's in my head- for whatever it's worth.) ;-)**

-4-

By the time Harry leaves Catherine's flat, it's late. Loathe as he is to disturb Ruth by either calling her or actually waking her (at least he hopes she's sleeping), he's even more loathe to go home to his empty place with not even Scarlet for company. Especially after such an emotional evening with his daughter. And although she had finally calmed down somewhat, he knows it's only a temporary reprieve from her emotions and her pain. As such, his heart continues to ache for her. He waves at her window, her thin silhouette visible there; she raises a hand back at him. Almost reluctantly, he starts the car and pulls away from the kerb hoping he's doing the right thing, not insisting she come back to his place. But unlike the past, he no longer insists his children do anything. Now he listens. Suggests only. And they seem to appreciate his efforts. But he wishes he could do more. Fix things. Make them happy. Shield them from harm. And though he knows his desire to keep them safe will never change, in actuality, he knows how unrealistic that is, too. And always was. Still, as their father, he can do no less; he continues to hope that they will be safe. That the choices they make in life are wise ones. Graham, he knows, is paying for his poor judgement. He sighs. He hopes, too, that his adult children now understand that though he was rarely home when they were young, they were never far from his thoughts; his heart; his very soul. He hopes as well that they now know his love and concern for them an immutable fact of life, no matter how old they might be. They will always be his children.

Driving slowly, he peers through the windscreen. The rain is much heavier now and pelts against the glass. The fog, thick and low, hangs like a wet blanket before him. He cranks up the heat, turns the wipers on full force and grabs his mobile, flipping it open, all with one hand. Oncoming headlights suddenly appear ahead, almost blinding him._ Drive carefully, Harry, Please._ Heeding the voice in his head, he pulls over, and the other car swishes by him without incident. Giving a silent thank you to Ruth, he tries ringing her again, feeling a bit like a cad as well for doing so. Still, he rationalises, waking her to answer the phone is less intrusive than actually waking her from a sound sleep, making her leave her warm bed, and go downstairs to let him in. Perhaps, he tells himself, she is still awake; perhaps as well she is waiting for his call, too, not wishing to intrude. All he really knows is that he needs to speak to her. Be with her. But their relationships is still new, and he does not want to take her, or it for granted, either. Ringing her, all things considered, seems like a sensible option.

To his relief, she answers almost immediately. "Thank goodness you've called. I was so worried about you. On the road in such weather."

"I'm fine. I'm doing like you said. Being careful," he says. "Pulled over, in fact."

"Good," she says. "Where are you now?"

"Near Catherine's. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No... No. I'm awake. I never went to sleep, actually. "

"Ah..." he says. "Sorry. I…didn't mean for you to stay up."

"I couldn't sleep. Not knowing if everything...Are you coming back?" she asks. "Here, I mean."

'"It's not too late? For you, I mean?"

"Of course not," she says. "Um..how…?"

"She's ok. Catherine, that is. We'll talk in a bit. Alright?"

"Of course. " Then she adds again, "Drive carefully. Please."

"I shall." He rings off, her voice and caution keeping him company until he pulls up to her door. Like Catherine, she opens the door for him immediately.

"Hi," she greets him, now wearing a fleecy pair of pyjamas, a dressing gown wrapped around her. Her fuzzy slippers peek out, and he can see she is also wearing heavy socks as well. She shuts the door then pulls the sash around her tighter.

"Go on. To bed," he says, smiling at her and her outfit as he slips his damp coat off. "I'll be right up."

"It's fine." She says. "Do you want something warm? It's so nasty out tonight. And the wind. It's picking up, it seems. " A shiver underscores her words.

"Go on," he says again, this time firmly. "And no, I don't want anything. But maybe you do?"

She hesitates for just an instant.

He nods. "Go on, then. I'll bring it up to you. Tea. Decaf, yes?"

She nods gratefully. "Um. Ok. Thanks."

"Do you want toast, too? Or..?"

"No," she says, already halfway up the steps. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Ruth," he says, shaking his head benignly up at her. "Please. Go on."

Minutes later, she's sitting up in bed, a tray on lap, sipping some tea and eating the toast with jam she said she didn't want, but he made for her anyway. And from the looks of it, it's a good thing that he had. The toast disappears quickly and he smiles at her as her tongue darts out, licking the last of the strawberry jam off her lips. She sighs contentedly. "Thanks." And adds unnecessarily, "that hit the spot." She smiles up at him.

He smiles back. And taking the tray, turns to go downstairs.

"Harry. Don't bother. Tomorrow. Hmmm?" And she snuggles down into her bed except for one arm, reaching out towards him. "Come to bed. Please."

He nods, placing the tray on her dresser. Then removing his trousers, he slips into bed next to her. Like second nature, their arms go around each other.

"Hmm," she says into his chest, "thank you again. I guess I really needed that."

"And I need this," he says, hugging her to him.

She kisses him, her lips sweet from the jam. Then snuggles next to him, her woollen socks soon finding purchase upon his bare legs.

He runs his tongue over his own lips, a faint scent of strawberry on them as well. "I'm sorry I kept you up," he says into her ear. "Selfish bastard that I am. Interfering with your sleep. "

" 's fine." She says sleepily, still into his chest. "Um...how's….?"

"Better. But we'll talk tomorrow. Ok?"

She nods wordlessly.

"Go to sleep," he says.

"Sure?" She asks, the word little more than a yawn.

"Yes," he says, kissing the top of her head. "I'm sure. Catherine's calmed down, and there isn't more I can actually tell you….about Jane. Well, there is, but tomorrow, yes?"

"Yes.'" She murmurs. "'morrow."

In seconds, it seems, she's fast asleep in his arms. He listens to the even cadence of her breath and roundly chastises himself again for keeping her awake. Worrying her so. Always asking something of her, it seems. He resolves to be better. Do better. For her. She deserves no less, he tells himself, kissing her hair again. She doesn't stir, but he thinks she sighs in her sleep. "I love you, he whispers. "I do."

His eyes close and his breath joins hers in perfect concert. And still holding her in his arms, he drifts off, too, despite the raging storm outside.


	5. Chapter 5

**My heartfelt thanks to those still reading and leaving feedback. xo**

-5-

_ Jane_

She opens the door. And for a moment no one says anything.

"Harry," she says,

"Jane," he says.

"Can I come in?" he asks when she continues to stand there.

She hesitates before stepping aside. He stands in the very same foyer where she had left his suitcase for him all those years ago. The same house where he and she began. Had their children. And their lives as a family had come to such an unhappy end.

He notices that she is looking at him. " I..uh..."

"Why are you here?" she asks.

He clears his throat. " I…um…" Taking a breath, he looks directly into her eyes. "Catherine called me last night. " Then he pauses.

"About?" And she stares back at him with intelligent grey eyes, and so very much like Graham's.

"Uh…Can I...we sit down please?" And his eyes flit in the direction of the living room.

She barely nods but ushers him into the house, leading him to the living room. Yet neither one of them actually sits down. She goes to stand near the chair by the window, the same chair that Graham first sat in weeks ago, barely looking at his father. The ticking of the grandfather clock is just as loud now as it was on his visit with his son as well. He clears his throat again.

"Uh… Catherine told me about your…"

"She shouldn't have. " She says, her voice registering no surprise. "But I was going to tell you myself. At the appropriate time. "

"She was… upset. I ..uh...saw her last night. She ...uh...called me."

Her only response is to raise her chin the same way their daughter had the other night just before she had fallen apart in his arms.

"Please," he says, looking at his former wife, " I hope that you're not angry with her. She..."

Despite her intense gaze, her shoulders relax somewhat. "I'm not angry." She takes a bit of a breath. "Actually, I'm glad that she felt comfortable enough to turn to you. Her father."

He nods. "She was… better when I left. But ..." He looks helplessly at Jane. "If I can do anything. Anything that –"

"What? Cure me? No one can, most likely. Although there is treatment. Some," she adds, her tone matter-of-fact, "have proven to stave off the effects for years."

"Yes." he says adding quickly, "I know. In fact, I've been doing some research, and hormonal treatment seems to be the preferred-"

"Is that why you're here? To advise me of available treatment? For my cancer?"

He flinches at both her tone and the word. "No. I … Jane." He sighs. "I know we've had …" Then shakes his head. "You don't deserve this. Not at all. I'm so sor…."

"I'm not sure anyone does, " she says, her back ramrod straight. "But thank you. For that. "

Before he can respond she goes on, her words precise, sounding not unlike the the schoolteacher that she is at heart. "Well, now that we've established the facts, I do need you to do one thing for me. That is, if you're serious about-"

"-I am. Absolutely. Anything. And if I can help in any way financially, I ..."

From the look on her face, it is eminently, painfully, clear to him that he has said entirely the wrong thing. "I only meant..." He shakes his head. "Tell me what you need. Anything. Please."

"Don't you know, Harry? Must I tell you?"

Her tone, almost gentle, surprises him. And he stares across at her. "Of course," he says after a moment, feeling quite dense. "Graham and Catherine. Of course. But I'm sure that you will be fi-"

"I'm glad that you're sure. My own doctors are not. Actually."

He drops his head for a moment before looking up at her again. "You know I'll be there for my …our... Them. I give you my word."

She studies him. A moment later her entire face softens. And in that moment, he sees the young woman with whom he had fallen in love: the dark-haired beauty with intelligent grey eyes; the educator; the mother of his children. His wife. And the women with whom he thought he would spend the rest of his life.

"You know," she says, "there was time I wouldn't have believed you. And in fact, not too long ago."

He swallows visibly.

"Oh, I know that you loved them. Even if you were little more than a stranger to them."

He opens his mouth, but she raises her hand." Please. Let me continue."

He nods.

"No. I've never doubted your love for them. For me. Yes. But never them. And I made sure they knew this. Even when you so bitterly disappointed them. Especially when you bitterly disappointed them."

He stands there, silent. Except for his breathing, now filling the room, even silencing the ticking of the clock.

"I did." She says. "I did. Told them that you loved them. They deserved to know that their father loved them even if he was an absentee one."

He runs his tongue over his mouth suddenly gone dry.

"And I…." And her eyes begin to fill. She straightens even more if possible. "And if what you said had been just a short while ago, that you would be there for them…well. " Then she shrugs. "Best Intentions. Paved roads. And all of that." And she blinks, her eyes boring into his. "But now. Now you get it. And you've …." Her chin lifts again." If the worst does come to pass, a distinct possibility, at least I shall know that they are looked after, especially Graham. Especially Graham." She pauses then says quietly, "You won't make a liar out of me, will you, Harry?"

"No. I will not. If I have to ….take early retirement, or whatever I have to do, I'll see that our son is taken care of properly. And Catherine too, of course. I give you my word."

"Yes." she says, "Catherine." She sighs a bit. "She's stronger than Graham." At his name, she bites her lip and looks away. But only for a second or two. "She always has been. But she..." And Jane shakes her head looking him in the eye again. "See that she has a life. Her own. Really lives. Promise you will do whatever you can to make sure that she does."

"Of course. He says. "Of course I shall. I want that, too. "

She studies him for a long moment before speaking. "I always knew you were a good man. A bad husband. An absentee father. Yes. But a good man. I'm counting on you to prove me right. And," she adds, " so are your children."

He nods. Then gingerly reaches over and places a hand on her shoulder.

She nods back at him. And they stand there, the clock once again ticking in the living room in the house where they had lived so long ago.


	6. Chapter 6

-Six-

_Graham:_

"7 lbs, 3 oz. With a lot of hair. And from what I can tell, blue eyes," the doctor says. Then adds, "Maybe. More like grey-blue, actually. " He shrugs. "Hard to tell, of course."

_Like Jane,_ he thinks, smiling up at the doctor. "And my-"

The doctor nods at him. "Of course. She's fine. Resting."

Harry shakes his head. "Thank God. I need to see her, of course. I .." And he says nothing else.

"You're not, " the doctor says sympathetically, "the first father to miss the birth of their child. Of course," he adds wryly, "I'm not the person you need to explain it to. Am I?"

"I ...No. You're not." And a sigh slips out.

"Why not see your son first? Then you can tell her all about him. Might make it ...er...easier." And he smiles again at Harry.

Minutes later, Harry is peering through the large, rectangular glass. All wrapped up in pink or blue blankets, with only their tiny faces peeking out, the infants stare back at him, some howling in righteous indignation. Yet despite the row of babies in front of him, he finds his son quickly, almost by instinct. _Pearce, Graham, H_., reads the little card affixed to the plastic bassinet. And just as the doctor said, his son has a mop of hair. Dark, wavy, much like his mother's. And unlike so many of the other babies, his son is sleeping peacefully, too. A smile breaks out on Harry's face. He stares for a long minute, drinking in his child. _My son. Graham_.

Reluctantly, he turns away, steeling himself for the next: his wife. A new mother again. And one that he also has disappointed again; this time, bitterly. He promises just before he steps into her room, that he'll make it up to her. Somehow. Make her understand about his job. His responsibilities. Holding a bouquet of flowers and his breath, he enters her room.

* * *

Harry heads towards his son's room, hurrying a bit. Graham's therapy, he knows, is probably underway, but his conversation with Jane earlier was not one he could cut short in all good conscience. Inwardly, he sighs. She's right, he supposes. No one deserves cancer. Least of all, he is certain, her. Although he's relieved that she agrees with him not to tell their son about her condition unless the unspeakable should occur, he's also subdued. The prospect of his children's mother dying in the near future is sobering. As is his promise to her as well.

Indeed, the more he thinks about it, the more daunting it all seems. Loving his children is easy; but actually helping them, much less so. Further, his children as adults have adult needs. A life of their own. As it should be. And Graham, of course, might require lifelong care; be somewhat dependent upon others for the rest of his life. And coupled with his drug addiction, something not truly addressed at present due to his physical condition, weighs heavily upon Harry as well. Yet there is a bright spot: the court's disposition for leniency towards Graham if he faithfully attends drug rehab and stays out of trouble. One less thing to worry about, Harry thinks. _ At least for today._

Still, he's a realist: if and when his son is discharged and regains independence, there is no guarantee the young man will be able to to stay straight._ Especially if Jane should._..Harry shakes his head. Refuses to go there. Instead he focuses on what he can control. _Now. Today._ And of course, there's his daughter. Catherine. The caretaker. Worrying about her brother. Now her mother. He sighs again. Her work, her documentary, is once again on hold. Equally troubling, there is no special person in her life. Just like him until just a few weeks ago.

Unconsciously, he smiles. Then wonders if either of his children will ever find the happiness he now has with Ruth. The idea of his daughter being alone with no one to love, nor no one one to care about her, is something with which he is well acquainted. Painfully so. And it disturbs him to think of Catherine being alone for the rest of her life. But he's at a loss how to actually approach the subject with her. Especially now with her mother so seriously ill. Perhaps terminally so._ Terminal_. He shakes his head, his mood becoming more pensive by the moment. That is until he turns the corner of the corridor.

His eyes open in disbelief. At the opposite end is his son, standing, gripping onto a 4 wheeled walking frame. But that's not why Harry stares; it's not the first time the young man has practiced standing just so, therapist at his side. This time is different. Completely different. Graham is slowly moving. Approaching him. His foot and leg drag behind, but he is upright. And walking. And to his father.

"Graham," Harry says softly in disbelief. Quickly, he begins to close the gap. But the therapist's hand shoots up. "Wait," she says. Please." Standing next to her patient, she holds onto him, gripping his shirt, the material tightly bunched in her hand. Just in case. But the young man needs no assistance other than his determination and the walker. Laboriously, he makes his way towards his father.

Transfixed, Harry watches his son make his way inexorably towards him. And from where he stands, he can't quite tell if Graham is smiling or grimacing. But his determination is evident. Right foot and leg dragging, Graham pushes on, eyes riveted upon his father.

Harry blinks rapidly. Now only mere feet away, he waits for him, the tightness in his own chest growing with each step his son takes. Finally, the two men are close enough to touch. Graham stops, leaning heavily upon his walker, his wavy hair damp, his breath heavy. He manages a crooked smile.

At his side, the therapist crows. "You did it! I knew you could!"

He says nothing to that. Instead he stares into his father's eyes. Harry stares back, eyes brimming, unable to speak. And not ashamed of it one bit. Not ashamed at all.

* * *

"And then," he tells her, "he actually wanted to walk back. And he did. But of course, by that time he went straight to bed. Poor lad. He was exhausted. But he walked. He did. " He shakes his head at the memory. "It's ...miraculous. Really."

Holding his hand, she smiles at him across the table. "He's determined. Like his father," she adds, still smiling. "Oh, it's really wonderful news." And she gets up and goes over to him, putting her arms around him where he's sitting.

"And did I tell you," he says looking up at her, "that after he napped, he wanted to do it again?"

She nods, smiling, her dimples out in full force. He pulls her into his lap.

"Harry, she protests, "I'm too heavy for you."

"Nonsense," he says, his arms now around her waist. He clasps her to him for good measure.

She shifts a bit, sitting a bit to the side on his lap, his arms still wound around her. When she leans her head on his chest a bit, he kisses her hair, then says, "I know I haven't been spending enough time with you. I'm sorry."

She shakes her head, running her hands up and down his his strong arms. "Harry, it's fine. You have your hands full. I don't know how you've been doing it. Really." And she looks up at him, lightly kissing him.

He smiles gently at her. "Your birthday's coming up. And I want it to be special."

Slipping from his grasp, she picks up the mugs on the table before replying. " As long as we're together, it'll be special."

He smiles. "What did I do to deserve you?"

She shrugs, mugs still in hand. "I'd say we've both earned some happiness. Wouldn't you, Harry?"

He stops her with one hand from going to the sink. "I mean it," he says. "I want to do something special for you. It would...give me ...pleasure. Would you at least think about it?" Hmmm?"

Setting the mugs back on the table, she pulls him up. "Well, I can think of something right now. Consider it an early birthday present. Yes?" And her blue eyes take on a sparkle, one he knows so very well.

He beams at her. And leading him by the hand, he readily follows her out of the kitchen, down the hall, and up the stairs to her bedroom above.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the bit of delay in updating. But here's a nice long chappie to make up for it. Plus, I think you'll rather enjoy the following! xo**

**-seven- **

_Catherine_

For Harry, one day melds into the next. There's work, his children, and his former wife. Graham continues to improve; Catherine, with a gentle nudge from Harry, is once again filming her documentary; their mother, Jane, begins her hormonal therapy.

And of course, there's Ruth. And her birthday, an event Harry looks forward to with great anticipation. Better still, it falls upon a Sunday, his only real day off, barring of course any cataclysmic world event, always a possibility in his particular universe. But Harry's only real concern is that the apocalypse will hold off at least until after this weekend. In addition he finds, perhaps unlike others of his species, that he actually looks forward to buying a gift for her. He finds as well that just thinking of his plans for her birthday has become a panacea of sorts for the day's ills, usually work-related. Indeed, at the end of a difficult day, he simply pictures them together on her special day and feels better. The only stress he does feel, however, is the upcoming luncheon he has planned with his daughter. And what he will say to her then. Still, not a man to procrastinate, he finds himself at the pub the very next day, waiting for his daughter.

"Hi, Dad." She says not long after, giving him a peck on the cheek.

He pats her arm, smiles at her. "How's everything?"

"Fine," she says, following him to a small table near the back. "Nothing new since I last saw you. Like yesterday." She smiles wryly looking every inch Harry Pearce's daughter.

"Right," he says, his smile matching hers. Then sitting down across from her, he unfolds his napkin before placing it upon his lap. "How's the film, then?"

She nods. "It's...you know. I'm back at it."

"Yes, he says. "But how is it?"

"Well," she shrugs. "It's ok."

"Only ok?"

She shrugs again. "Hard to concentrate, you know. But I'm trying."

"Yes. Good. That's good."

She studies him for a bit but before she can say anything, the server comes over. After they give their order, Harry sips at his water, his eyes on his daughter.

"Dad," she says finally, "is everything ok?"

"Yes, of course," he says, setting his glass down. "I'm glad about your work. That you're back at it."

Neither says anything else for a moment, each studying the other, each pair of eyes remarkably similar. Finally, he clears his throat. "I just wanted to speak with you about something that's...uh..."

"Are you ok?" she asks, barely suppressing a note of panic in her voice. Mentally kicking himself for upsetting her, he opens his mouth. But she cuts him off, her thin face now pinched with anxiety. "Oh, God. Not bad news. Please. I don't think that I could take any -"

"Oh, no. No, I'm sorry," he says, reaching across and patting her hand. "I'm fine. Nothing's wrong. I would just," and he smiles a bit, his voice dropping, "like to…discuss something with you. But it's not anything to worry about. Really. I promise." And he smiles his most reassuring smile.

It appears to do the trick. She leans back in her chair, smiling back at him. "Well. Now I'm curious. Really. "

He stops fiddling with his fork, lining it back up with his plate before speaking. "Uh...A…a good. Friend of mine ….Uh. …" He starts again. "A good friend of mine is celebrating her birthday on Sunday. Of course, I'll see Graham on Saturday but much earlier than usual. In the morning. Instead of the afternoon or evening. Like I usually do. And I'll call him on Sunday. See him later that evening. If he's not too tired. I just wanted to coordinate my time with you. To ...uh...let you know...well... Just wanted Graham to have someone with him," he says again.

She narrows her eyes. "That's never been a problem before. He's always had someone there at some point throughout the day." She stares across at him. Then her face brightens. "I see," she says. "I _see._ Is it...Ruth?"

He stares across at her.

She nods, a big smile on her face. "Yes," she says. "Good friend."

He clears his throat. "Right. That's her name. I..."

"I like her, Dad."

He cocks his head at her.

"She showed up with you when... Graham was first ..."

"Oh, right. I know that. Of course."

"She spoke with me, you know. And was very kind. Not pushy. Offered to help. I mean, a lot was a blur that day. But I remember her, of course. And, she says again, "I liked her. I did."

He realises that he's been holding his breath. "I'm glad." He says, finally exhaling. "Good." And smiles back at her.

"How long do you know her?"

"Um... A long time. But…"

"Ah." She says. "It's new. Isn't it? Is it ….serious?"

"Why do I suddenly feel that our roles have been reversed?" He asks, smiling wryly at her.

She laughs softly. "Answer the question. Please."

He hesitates before replying. "I …. We. Yes. " He finally says, meeting his daughter's eyes. "Yes, it is. Serious, that is. "

She nods and smiles. "I'm glad. Guess that's the end of my fantasy of you and Mom getting back together, though."

His mouth opens. Then shuts.

She laughs outright. "I'm kidding. Really. You're both better off apart. God. So much better. Really. I remember, you know." And her expression becomes quite serious. "I'm just happy that the two of you have finally called a truce. Makes life easier, you know. For me and Graham."

He nods. "I know you've had a rough time. You and your brother." He leans in, his voice low. "I'm sorry. I can't tell you how sorr—"

"Dad. This is now. That was then. Now you have someone in your life. And I mean it. I'm really glad for you. I am. "

He smiles gratefully. "Thank you," he says reaching across and patting her hand again. "That means a lot to me."

"But why are telling me? Here. Now." She sweeps her gaze around the pub before looking back at him. "Not planning on eloping this weekend, are you?" And she studies his face.

He shakes his head, smiling a bit. "No. I only wanted you to know that I won't be there Saturday night. And much later on Sunday. "And I guess," he says, "if I'm to be totally honest, I just wanted to ...Wanted you to know."

She smiles at that. Then waves her hand at him. "Take the Sunday off, too. You can call him. I'll just stay a bit later."

"Well, if you think that ..."

"Go on," she says," it'll be fine. You've never missed a day. Which is," she adds, her eyes opening, "pretty amazing, actually." And she continues to smile across at him, her somewhat angular features softening. Before he can say anything, she adds quietly. "She's changed you, you know. You're much happier. Much easier to talk to. Be with. For that alone, I'm glad. And would like her, if I didn't already, that is."

He beams. "I ...care for her a great deal. She's been very supportive of me. And you and Graham. In fact, I really would like you to meet her. Properly meet her. Spend some time with her. I just wasn't sure ...Would you like that, Catie?"

"Of course." Then she picks up her glass and raises it to him. "To you. And Ruth."

"Thank you, " he says, his eyes filled with gratitude. He clinks his glass with hers. But nearly chokes at her next question.

"But are you planning to marry her? In the near future?"

He wipes his lips a bit. Clears his throat. "Uh...how would you...feel about that?"

"If she makes you happy, I'm all for it."

He nods, swallowing a bit. "That means...well. " He nods. "And when things settle down, we'll spend some time together. All of us."

She nods back. "I'd like that."

"I don't, however, want to be insensitive."

She looks puzzled for a moment. Then her face clouds over. "Right. Because of Mom."

He nods, his expression solemn. "Yes. How is she? Doing, I mean."

"She's ...ok. So far." Her shoulders sag a bit, and she sighs. "She's only just begun, you know. With her treatment."

"She's a strong woman. She-"

"Dad," she says, blinking rapidly. "Let's talk of something pleasanter. OK?"

"Yes. Of course. Sorry. "

"So," she says a moment after, "what are you planning to do for Ruth's birthday?"

* * *

_Ruth_

The piece of platinum feels just right in his broad palm. Picking it up with his other hand, he holds it to the light. It shimmers, the diamonds casting a prism of light on the opposite wall. The sapphire in its centre glows and practically vibrates in his hand, the deepest blue he has ever seen. Well, he silently amends. _Not quite. But close. _He smiles up at the jeweller. "Yes." he says. "This."

"We have a lovely platinum chain to go with that," the jeweller says, reaching behind the glass counter. Retrieving it, he holds it up, the delicate chain all but floating in the air. "Yes." Harry says. "That's exactly what I'm looking for."

**-Xoxoxoooxox-**

"Harry." His name barely a whisper, her hand reaches up for it, pressing it to her chest, close to her heart.

"Now if you don't care for it, that's fine. You can..."

"Not like it?" she says dreamily, looking at herself in the mirror, he standing behind her, his hands now resting upon her shoulders. She lifts her hand and stares at the diamond filigree necklace around her neck, the deep blue sapphire nestled in the cleft of her breasts." My God." And she turns to him, then. "It's so lovely. So beautiful. Perfect. Really."

He smiles gently. "Are you sure, Ruth?" he asks, his tone as soft as his smile. But he can see that she is sure. Her eyes sparkle, bluer than ever, the sapphire picking up the light in her eyes. Or the other way around, he supposes. He can't tell. But he can tell that she likes it. Loves it. She throws her arms around him. "I love it. It's so lovely. Like you. Just like you. Lovely. A lovely man. My lovely man."

"No, " he says, caressing her shoulders. "Like _you._ That's why I bought it. It reminds me of you. The colour. The delicate beauty. Yet strong. Genuine." And he runs his hands up and down her bare arms. "Precious."

"I don't think I shall ever take it off." And she sighs.

"Not even in bed?" he asks, his lips curving into a smile.

"Especially not in bed," she says.

"Is that so?"

She nods. And soon proves it to him.

**xoxooxox**

Wearing nothing else except for her necklace and the afterglow of their lovemaking, she smiles at him as he reaches up, caressing her face.

"Have I told you how much I love you?" he whispers.

"Yes," she says. You have." And draws even closer to him. She sighs again, her hand touching the pendant. "This has been such a wonderful birthday. Thank you."

"But your birthday's barely begun."

She smiles. "I know. But this," and she strokes the necklace, " would have been enough. More than enough. We don't have to go—"

"Hush, "he says, kissing her. "You deserve ..." And he shrugs. "Everything."

She kisses him back, then glances at the clock on her nighttable. "I think I should get ready for dinner. "

"Yes, it's getting late."

"Still not going to tell me where, are you?"

"Afraid not."

She stands up then, smiling down at him. "I won't be long."

"Right."

And she turns away.

"And pack an overnight bag," He says casually.

She whirls back around, eyes wide . "An overnight bag?"

He smiles broadly. "Fidget is taken care of. Malcolm," he adds. He ..."

"But Gra..."

"I already saw Graham this morning."

"I thought you were at work. "

He gives her an inscrutable smile.

"Harry. What are you up to?"

"Well," he says, dropping his gaze down below, "I'm not really up to anything right now. As you can see. But if you give me a while..." And he looks back up at her and smiles, this time a completely transparent one.

She leans down and smacks him. A love-tap, really. A caress. Then shakes her head. "Really, Harry. Where are we going?"

"I've had training you know," he says, clasping his hands behind his head and smiling up at her. "I can withstand the worst kind of interrogation. Even by you." And when he grins, the years fall away from his face.

She shakes her head again, laughing softly.

He nods up at her. "You and me. Tonight. And all will be revealed. After dinner. Alright?"

She nods. "Yes. Of course." And she sighs again, a lovely smile on her face.

"Now go get dressed, Miss Evershed, before I change my mind."

She drops her gaze and stares. "Actually, I think you already have." And giggles.

With all the dignity he can muster, he drags the sheet over his lower body. "You," he says in mock anger, "really need to get dressed. Then he smiles up at her. "Or I do."

Her laughter is delicious. He almost grabs for her again, but thinks better of it. Still laughing, she turns, leaving this time in earnest. In moments, the shower starts up behind the closed door.

He listens to the water cascading over her supple body, her silken skin, wearing only her necklace. And thinking of the next 24 hours or so he will spend with her, he smiles beatifically.

**xoxoxoox**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you again for your feedback which is always treasured. However, for Sins 2, even more so! A difficult fic to write, knowing that others are reading and reviewing means more than I can properly say. Bless all who continue to encourage me in this humble story. And as such, consider the next chapter(s) a fervent thank you from me to you. :)**

_Ruth's Birthday_

-8-

They step out of his car on Gloucester Road in South Kensington, the Underground right across the street. "Oh," Ruth says, reading the sign, "The Stanhope Arms." Drawing closer to the entrance, she says, "It looks like a very nice pub."

An arm gently pulls her back. "Not here," he says, smiling.

"No?" She says a look of surprise on her face. "It looks good."

"It does," he says, glancing at the window and menu posted there. "Maybe later. For a drink." Carefully, he leads her across the busy street.

"Where are we going?" she asks for the umpteenth time. And for the umpteenth time, he gives her his standard reply. "You'll find out. Soon."

Then he stops and smiles. "Is this soon enough?" She follows his gaze. Directly ahead is a Victorian townhouse now a hotel. " The Bailey's," she reads the brass name above. "Oh," she says, a big smile on her face, "I've heard of this hotel. It's over 100 years old." She studies the Victorian facade, the heavy wooden doors with glass panels welcoming them. "Is this it, Harry? Where we're staying?"

"They have a lovely Italian restaurant here,_"_ he merely says.

"Oh," she says. "I see."

"Disappointed?" He asks, leading the way up the front steps and to the entrance.

" Of course not," she says, stepping though the heavy doors he holds open for her. "I'm sure whatever you've picked will be equally lovely." But as she speaks, she continues to walk past the reception area and restaurant towards the small seating area straight ahead. Although small, it's quite cosy. A pair of red wing-back chairs and matching love seat face one another; an area rug with warm colors lies on the floor between them. The rest of the floor is exposed, rightfully so: it's golden oak and lovingly polished. Wood shelves line one wall and filled with well-read books as well. Best of all, off to one side is a graceful spiral staircase, carpeted in a lovely shade of red. The wrought iron balusters and their lovely scroll-work, possibly Italian inspired, curves up and beyond. The mahogany handrail gleams, burnished to a rich brown and beckons to her. She approaches, her hand inches from coming to rest upon it.

"Ruth," Harry calls to her quietly.

Dropping her hand, she turns back to him, still standing close to the main door and the restaurant's entrance. And silver shoes flashing against the floor, she hurries back to him. Then sighs wistfully, "it_ is_ lovely, isn't it."

"It is," he says noncommittally, but our table is ready."

"This way, please," the Maître'd says, showing them to their seats. Although late afternoon, the restaurant, Olives, is already humming with activity. Stepping past the bar and informal seating area with upholstered chairs, some with hassocks, Ruth takes note of the fireplace. Now lit and open on both sides, it effectively warms its patrons as it also separates those in the bar and restaurant. She nods at it gratefully as she passes by, reflexively shivering a bit.

"Cold?" Harry asks.

"No, not really," she replies. Despite her words, she draws her coat around her a bit, all done up except for the two top buttons, exposing her necklace and pendant.

"Oh," she says looking around, "this is lovely, too. And it smells so good."

He smiles. "So it meets with your approval?"

"Of course," she says. "It's wonderful. Thank you." And she smiles across at him.

"The food is quite good here. I think you'll like it."

"I already do," she says and breathes in appreciatively. "I haven't had Italian in a while."

"I know." He says nodding his head. "That's another reason why I picked this place. That and of course, its reviews."

She nods back and finally slips off her coat revealing a simple black dress with scoop neckline, its only embellishment her diamond and sapphire pendent, gleaming against her unblemished skin.

"You look beautiful," he says. "Exquisite."

She touches her pendant. "It's this."

He shakes his head. "No. It only enhances your natural beauty."

She looks down for an instant, still fingering her pendant. Then looks back up at him and when she does, he sees the faint blush he knows and loves, begin its familiar ascent up her cheeks.

"Nonsense," he says, reaching over and squeezing her hand gently. "It's you."

** x0x0x0**

"Dinner was delicious." she says.

"I'm glad you liked it," he says. Reaching across, he holds her hand again. She gazes back at him, her eyes sparkling, perhaps from the pendant. Or the candlelight in the restaurant. He prefers to think, however, that it's really from her emotions. Or perhaps for that matter, his. The only thing he's certain of is that she's the most beautiful woman there. By far. And with him. He gazes back at her, still holding her hand as if it were made of spun glass.

"Thank you for this," she says again, before looking away from him for a moment, her eyes flitting over to the large arched window at her side and the street outside. Dark now, the cars streak by, the storefronts lit up. "So lovely. Really."

He smiles, just as he's been doing for the entire time he's been with her. "My pleasure. Really."

She smiles back then glances at the window again. "It gets dark so early now, it seems."

"You're not not tired, are you?"

"No. Not at all," she says, shaking her head, looking back at him. "Unless of course, you are."

"No. " he says, his eyes still drinking her in.

"But you still haven't said where we-"

"You'll find out-"

"Soon enough," she says, finishing it for him. Then smiles.

"Quick learner," he says, just before gesturing for the check.

**xo**

Soon after, they step into the night, and she turns towards his car, diagonally across the street. He looks doubtfully at her shoes. "Are you up for taking the tube? It's only four stops. And parking where we're going is not -"

"Of course," she says. "These shoes are perfectly fine." Then her face brightens. "Piccadilly Circus?"

He smiles wryly. "Is there anything you don't know, Miss Evershed?"

"Well," she says, stepping down from the kerb to the station, "that's for me to know and you to find out. Soon, " she adds a beat later, her dimples flashing.

He smiles, a gleam in his eyes. "I can't wait," he says, tucking her arm in his. "Carry on, Miss Evershed. Carry on."

** x0x0x0x**

_ Stay tuned, please! More to follow! (Hopefully soon!)_


	9. Chapter 9

FLUFF. (I'd say we've all earned it! :)

**-9-**

Saturday night, the station is teeming with people. Many like Harry and Ruth are dressed up for an evening in the city. Groups of young people chatter excitedly as they swipe their cards through the scanner, heading to their respective trains and their destinations. Most it seems to Harry, are headed for the Piccadilly Circus line as well. He pulls Ruth towards him a bit, again studying her shoes with 3" heels. "You sure you can manage in those?" he asks again.

"Yes," she replies, eyes glittering in excitement. "Of course I can."

He shakes his head doubtfully. "I should have told you to wear different ones. Better say close to me."

"I intend to anyway," she says smiling at him. He smiles back. And minutes later when the train screeches to a halt in front of them, he takes her arm. "Mind the gap, " he says as the doors slide open. The crush of people squeeze inside all vying for seats. Harry, like the rest, negotiates through the crowd, steering Ruth to a pair of empty ones.

"Lucky to get one," she says, tucking her silver shoes beneath her seat.

He nods.

_This is the Piccadilly Line_, the PA intones. _Next stop, South Kensington_. _Please mind the gap. _ South Kensington is even more crowded. Among them is a slender young woman with glossy black hair, hanging straight down past her shoulders. Cradled in her arms is a large box of some kind. Carefully balancing it, she manages to work her way through the crowd and comes to stand near Harry. Immediately, he stands up, gesturing to his seat. "Please," he says.

Her eyes light up. "Oh, thank you." But before she can actually sit down, the train moves, and she lurches along with it. The box in her arms slips bit from her grasp. "Oh!" she says trying to regain her footing and her package. Reaching out, Harry steadies her. She smiles gratefully at him before sitting down. The box now safely resting in her lap, her hands on top, she smiles up at him. "Thanks again." Then still smiling, she opens the box showing its contents to him.

His eyes open wide. Ruth, sitting next to her, stares as well. "A cake?" Ruth says, peering down at the beautifully decorated cake, white, with tiny pink rosettes on top and delicate pink and white piping running up and along the sides.

"A ..cake?" Harry echoes, his eyes wide as well. "On the train?"

The girl nods. "Yes. For a birthday party. "

"Ah. A birthday, " he says, his eyes meeting Ruth's. Both smile at one another, sharing their little secret. All at once, a hush falls throughout the passenger car as people crane their necks at the young woman, or rather, the mysterious box on her lap.

Obligingly, she tills it just a bit for her fellow passengers.

"A cake?" They ask, eyes and expressions mirroring Harry and Ruth's. "On a train?"

"Brave lass, " someone calls out.

"Can't believe it didn't get smashed," another says.

"Looks good," someone else says.

Most nod. "How about a piece?" A young man standing close by, asks cheekily.

"Hey!" His friend nudges him. "Me first!" Both men smile across at her. She giggles a bit, shaking her head.

"It's big enough to feed _all_ of us!" someone across the aisle says.

"It is, actually." Harry says quietly.

"What kind is it?" Ruth asks.

"Lemon-raspberry."

"Oh," Ruth sighs. "It sounds heavenly."

The young woman smiles. "I hope so."

"Nothing like birthday cake," Ruth smiles up at Harry.

"Nothing indeed," he says with a twinkle in his eye.

The girl carefully closes the box. The passengers pick up their threads of conversation; the train hurtles to its destination. The PA, as it has done so for each and every stop makes its announcement. _This is the Piccadilly Line. Mind the gap._

_Mind the gap,_ Harry mimes down at Ruth looking once more pointedly at her shoes. She nods, smiling up at him. Two stops later, the train arrives at their station, Piccadilly Circus. Along with Harry and Ruth, and most of the train it seems, the young woman with the cake stands up as well. She sways a bit.

"Do you need help with that?" Harry asks.

She shakes her head, "I'm fine." And she repositions the box against her thin chest. " But thanks again."

He nods. "Well, then, good luck with it."

"Have fun!" Ruth calls out. The young woman smiles then holding her cake aloft, soon disappears it the crowd. Harry reaches for Ruth. And minutes later, both stand underneath the Angel of Charity or better known as Eros. They stare up at it for a bit. Then taking her arm again, he leads her across the street.

"But where are we going?" she asks once more as soon as they are across.

He stops. "You like Bronte, Ruth?"

She looks at him, puzzled,

"Look up." He says. And smiles.

She does.

"The premiere of...Oh! Harry! Is this? Oh! I so wanted to see this!"

"I'm glad," he says, opening his wallet, showing her two tickets.

"It's perfect! But whatever made you think of it?"

"Well," he says, "As much as I would love to take the credit, " and he smiles, "my daughter of a filmmaker suggested it."

Her eyes widen even more. "Catherine?" Her smile deepens. "You told her?"

He nods, his smile transforming his face. "About us." He nods again, "Yes. And she wishes you a happy birthday as well."

"Oh!" She exclaims, taking a step back, tottering on her heels.

He grabs her. "Careful! " he says.

But she only smiles back at him with misty eyes. "How lovely! What a lovely present for my birthday!"

His eyes, suspiciously misty as well, say it all.

They both stand like that for a long moment.

"But Harry. " Ruth finally says, looking up at the marquee. "Are you sure, quite sure, that you'll like it? It got great reviews, but..."

"I'll be your Mr Rochester," he says, tucking her arm into his. "If you will be my...No," he amends. "You're much too pretty for Jane Eyre."

"Nonsense , " she says, as they enter the theatre. "If I have one tenth of her character..."

"You must be kidding," he says. "You have more character than ..."

And so their conversation continues. That is until they sit down, his arm around her, she pressed close to him. And just so, they wait to see the newest adaptation of_ Jane Eyre._

* * *

The birthday celebration is not quite over!

Stay tuned. Perhaps later today? :)

And thanks for celebrating our lucky lady's special day (with her special man )!


	10. Chapter 10

_Ruth's Birthday ..continued (And apologies for not posting last night. I tried. I really did. But I lost some of it, and then was just too tired to redo. And then...Aw, heck! 'Nuff excuses! Here 'tis: Enjoy!_

_-10-  
_

"That was wonderful. Simply wonderful," she says, leaving the theatre with Harry at her side.

And from the snippets of conversation surrounding them, most agree. Harry does, too. "It was, actually. Quite good," he adds.

"Yes," she says, slipping her arm through his as they cross the street. "Thank you so much. What a faithful adaptation. And gorgeous cinematography."

"Yes. Excellent."

"You must really and truly thank Catherine for me. "

"I shall." Turning to her as they reach the other side, he says, "she liked you, you know. Quite a bit, in fact."

"She does? But she hardly…"

"It was enough. Takes after her father," he adds.

Ruth slows her pace a bit, tilting her head at him.

"Knows a good thing when she sees it." And he smiles a bit crookedly at her.

"Harry, " she says modestly. But her dimples reveal her delight. "Oh," she says, pointing ahead to a shop. "Let's go here! Maybe we can get something for Graham and Catherine."

He looks at her in disbelief. "It's a tourist shop, my dear, I hardly think that..."

"I've been there before," she says, steering him towards the entrance. "It's really quite popular. And not just for tourists."

He studies the patrons filing in and out from the shop. And after careful observation he has to agree most are not tourists. "Well, if you want to," he says. "It is your birthday you know."

She looks up at him in appreciation.

Pasting a smile on his face, he follows her inside. And in only moments, it seems, he has lost her. He scans the immediate area where he's standing. No Ruth. Heading back to the last place where both had been together, he looks down the aisle with all the novelty tins of tea depicting scenes from London. No Ruth here, either. He sighs a bit. Then simply reaches into his pocket for his mobile.

"Where are you?" he asks, just managing to keep the note of frustration from his voice. "Can't find you in this crowd at all."

_Downstairs,_ he hears her say over the din of the shoppers.

"There's a downstairs?" he asks, looking past the crowd.

Despite the ambient noise, he can hear her giggle. _T__here is. Wait by the tea, please. I'm coming right up._

Not long at all, she is standing by his side, a shopping bag in hand.

"What's that?" he asks.

"Just a little something for Catherine and Graham. But please," she hurries on, "say its from both of us. If that's ok," she adds.

His eyes open. "That's, well... Generous of you, Ruth. But totally unnecessary."

"Oh, it's nothing really," she says, reaching into the bag and pulling out a black T shirt. "For Graham, " she says. On it is an iconic image of the Beatles crossing Abbey Road. Harry nods in approval. "He'll like that. Quite a lot, I'm sure. "

"I thought that he could wear it in hospital. During therapy. If he wants to, of course."

He smiles at her. "You're so thoughtful, you know. "

Her only response is to reach into the bag again, pulling out a small canvas satchel, olive green with a square flap. "This is for Catherine. She can store her camera equipment-or whatever- in here during her travels." Like the T Shirt, it too has a picture of the Beatles, also from Abbey Road, but with a much smaller image. "What do you think?"

"I think, "he says, drawing closer to her, "that I'm a fortunate man." He reaches for his wallet. "But let me."

"Harry. Don't you dare. I wanted to do this."

"Ok, ok, " he says, taking note of her expression. "As you wish." Shutting his wallet, he eyes the bag. "Anything in there for me?" And he smiles just like a little boy.

She merely shrugs, her face impassive.

He gives her his best Grid stare.

"You," she says, into his ear, "are not the only one who's had training. So you," she continues with naked delight, jiggling the bag a bit, "will just have to wait. "

He laughs. "Fine. But I warn you. If it's a mug with cats, or Paddington Bear, or even Winnie-the-"

"Rest assured. It's not." And she laughs along with him. "Promise."

Still laughing, they exit the store and back into the night, joining the ever-present crowds. "How about getting some dessert or a drink?" he asks.

She nods. "Yes, I'd like that. But where?"

"Why not head back to Gloucester Road and the car? That pub there looked good. Or even the restaurant at the Bailey's."

She nods. "Fine. But where are we actually _staying_?"

"All will be revealed in due time, my dear. All in good time."

She shakes her head at him, smiling. "You're maddening, you know that?" But she smiles at him with affection. "Fine, I'll wait." And," she adds with obvious delight, " so will you. For your present." And she shakes the shopping bag at her side.

"You're such a tease," he says. And he raises his eyebrows. "I like it."

She giggles. Then slips her arm through his again. "To the car, then?"

He nods.

And in her best impersonation of Jane Eyre, she says, "Well then, lead on, Mr Rochester. Lead on. "

"Yes, Jane." He says, his impersonation of the gentleman in question not bad at all. "Follow me."

She does.

* * *

Next chapter (hopefully later today):

Where they are actually staying...

And what's in the bag?

I'm SUCH a tease!

;-)


	11. Chapter 11

***** Readers: an informal poll at end of chapter. Would love your input! xo**

-11-

_Ruth's birthday, still. :)_

They alight from the Underground at Gloucester station and cross the street, heading towards his car where he had parked it hours ago.

"Ok?" He asks, gesturing to the pub just feet away.

She nods. "Fine."

In moments they're skirting the small cafe tables still left outside the busy establishment despite the rapidly approaching winter. Opening the door for her, they are greeted with a wave of noise, a stark contrast to the relative quiet left behind them. Although crowded, Harry manages just as he had done so on the train earlier in the evening to find two seats moments from being vacated. Two older men still seated there catch their eye and smiling, make way for them, rising slowly from their perches. Sliding onto the bar stools at the small square table tucked into the corner, Harry and Ruth nod in gratitude at the previous occupants. The seats, still warm, are not unwelcome given the rapidly falling night air.

"What will you have?" He asks, raising his voice over the din.

She reaches for the menu, studying it. "Well," she says, then points almost immediately. "That."

He squints down in the semi-dark. Then looks back up at her. "You do realise that apple pie with ice-cream not really a proper birthday cake?"

"Says who?" she counters, smiling. Then adds, "besides, it's not quite my birthday yet, is it?"

He glances at his watch. "Nope. Not yet."

"Good, "she says triumphantly. "Then I get to eat my pie. And cake. And have it, too. Or something like that." And she laughs.

He laughs along with her. "Yes. You shall have pie. And cake. And whatever else you want." And he beams across at her.

She reaches for his hand." Thank you. For everything. Really. It's been...well, perfect," she says. And her hand reaches up to her pendant.

"Entirely my pleasure. Really." Then he leans in a bit. "You deserve it, you know. And I don't have to tell you that I'm enjoying it as much as you. Especially," and he gives her hand a little squeeze, "after the ...uh... the last few weeks."

She nods. "Yes. I think it's why I'm enjoying it so much as well."

They stare across at one another, both nodding.

"But there is one tiny thing," she says quietly.

He leans in even more, his face a study in concentration.

"Where did you say we're staying?"

He smiles back at her, shaking his head. "Don't worry. The room will be there for us, I promise. "

"Seriously, It's getting late and..."

"Nice try," he says, smiling smugly at her. "And just in case you're really wondering, it's not far away at all."

"How far?" she asks quickly.

"I think I'll have coffee," he says, glancing down at the menu. "Irish coffee, actually." He looks back up at her and smiles innocently.

She simply smiles back at him. "Make that a double. But don't think, Harry, that I can't see through your subterfuge. Trying to change the subject and all. Not very subtle, either, you know. Not at all. " And she lowers her voice, "especially for being a ...you know." And she stares across at him.

He laughs outright. "Well, neither are you."

"Huh. You think you're too smart for me, don't you?" she says, her dimples flashing.

"Not at all," he replies. "In fact, I know I'm not. But in this case. Miss Evershed, you will just have to wait." And he gestures for the server.

xoxo

Not long after, each holding a fork in their hands, the remnants of the pie in front of them, they drain the last of their coffee.

"People are waiting," she says, crumpling her napkin and placing it next to her mug. "We really should give them the seats." And grabbing her shopping bag next to her, begins to rise.

"Yes," he nods, following suit. "We should."

Moments later, once again they are outside. One hand now resting on the car handle, she asks, "Ok. Really. Where are we going?"

He shrugs. Then smiles.

"Harry. Really."

His only answer is to walk a few steps towards the boot of the car.

Nonplussed, she stares at him.

Popping it open, he reaches inside for the overnight bag containing their change of clothes. "Told you it's not far. Not far at all. "He says, a slow smile spreading across his face.

She looks at the bag in his hand. Then follows his gaze.

Her mouth drops open. "Here? The Bailey's?"

He nods.

"Harry! _Here?"_

"Is it ok?" He asks, grinning, knowing the answer.

"Oh!" She says. "I can't believe it!"

"I am, " he says, dropping his voice, "a spy, you know. And a damn good one," he adds, shifting the overnight bag in his hand a bit.

"You!" She says. "All this time you...I can't believe that you..." In her excitement, she steps back a bit, her heel catching the edge of the kerb. She teeters and begins to pitch forward. "Oh!"

His hand shoots out and grabs her, catching just in time. "Good God, Ruth. Are you ok?"

She clutches at his arm. Then nods. "Yes," she says, a bit out of breath. "But I'm afraid my shoe is not." And still holding onto him, she raises her right foot, showing him the shoe and the broken heel, now hanging off to one side.

He shakes his head. "Those damn shoes. I knew they...Never mind," he says. "As long as you're ok. Did you twist your ankle?"

"No, " she says, moving it around a bit. "It's fine. But now I ..."

"Don't worry," he says in all earnestness, "If I have to carry you..."

She begins to giggle. "Carry me?" Then catching the look on his face, bites her lip. "Sorry. I know you could if you had to. But, you won't." And leaning into his arm, she removes the damaged shoe, her foot still suspended a few inches off the ground.

"You're not planning on walking barefoot into the hotel are you? It's freezing out."

"Won't have to," she says. "Open my bag. Please. Unless you really want to carry me," she adds, biting her lip again.

He nods. And with her still leaning into him, he quickly unzips the bag and begins to rummage through it.

"Right there." She says, shifting her weight a bit, her shopping bag still clutched in her other hand.

"Where? I don't see another pair of shoes. Just your slippers."

"Right. " She says, shifting again, her exposed foot still in the air and growing colder by the moment.

"Don't you have another pair of -?"

"Harry. Slippers. Now."

He complies. And holding onto him still, she removes her other shoe then steps into her slippers, one foot at a time. Finally, she lets go and looks down in satisfaction at her now warm feet, encased in fuzzy and bright pink slippers. The very same ones she had worn when he had returned from Catherine's house on that stormy night not too long ago.

He smiles at her, shaking his head. "Well. Perhaps you'll start a new style." And begins to laugh in earnest.

"Do shut up, Harry," she says. "You've been after me all night for my taste in shoes. Now you will just have to walk with me wearing these." And she laughs as well, her peals of laughter filling the street.

"I'm fine with it if you are."

And shoes dangling in one hand, shopping bag in the other, she walks the remaining few feet to the hotel with him at her side.

x0x0x00x0x0x

_And the party continues..._

****informal poll:**

**Oh, and please let me know (here is fine) if Harry's use of "my dear" should be left in the rubbish bin! (Or as we say here—in the garbage.) My own dear hubby calls me "my dear" and although I think it's terribly sweet, perhaps others do not. So, will much appreciate it if you'll let me know, please! And if you have a suggestion as to how H should call R, [sweetie, my love, etc.] feel free to add it as well! And if there is a majority, I will edit accordingly, using it as a thank you AND shout out to all to of you! xo**

**And a happy birthday to all, whenever and however you celebrate it!**

**:)**


	12. Chapter 12

-12-

For the second time that evening, Harry holds open the heavy doors of the Bailey's for Ruth. Head held high, she passes through them wearing her bright pink fuzzy slippers. "Thank you," she says with as much dignity as she can muster.

Both settle in front of the reception desk. Either the staff are paragons of etiquette or perhaps simply inured to the eccentricities of their guests, but no one bats an eye at her footwear. Minutes later, forgoing valet service, Harry passes one of the two room cards to Ruth before he begins to head towards the lift, a short distance past the cosy seating area with the red wing-back chairs and matching love-seat.

She veers off a bit, heading towards the wrought-iron spiral staircase, her hand once again inches from the gleaming handrail. "Ruth," he says, shifting the overnight bag in his hand, "our room's on the third floor. We should take the lift."

She eyes the bag in his hand. "All right," she says somewhat reluctantly. "But I'd really like to try out the stairs at some point."

He nods. "I'd like that, too. But going down, if you don't mind. Not as as young as used to be, you know."

"You've never heard any complaints from me, have you?" she says standing next to him once more, her dimples flashing.

"Well, that's certainly encouraging, " he says, smiling back at her.

Together, they stand in front of the wood doors of the lift, the brass plate above it gleaming. Soon after, the lift pings and the door slides open. Stepping in, they take note of the small compartment, one of the oldest lifts in the city. Despite its size, the lift is charming: the wood, a warm reddish hue, is polished within an inch of its life; the gleaming brass handrail is a perfect complement to all the wood; and the mirrors add even more sparkle to the compartment as well.

"Nice, " Ruth says, nodding her head in appreciation.

"Yes. It is." The wooden doors close then a minute later or so, open again. They step out into the hall. The floor creaks.

"Oh." She says, stepping over the same spot. It creaks obligingly. "Lovely."

"Yes. It's got character, all right. Something you know about," he says, smiling at her.

"Harry, " she says demurely, but her eyes sparkle.

They turn. Another pair of heavy wooden doors with glass panels greets them, its shiny brass handle beckoning to them. Harry opens the doors, and they pass through, nodding their heads in appreciation once more.

"Everything's so lovely." She says.

"I'm glad you approve." Then turns his attention to the numbers on the wall. "Right," he says. "This way."

They walk down the hall, the floor creaking now and then. He stops. " This is us." And slipping in the card, opens the door.

"Oh, " she says, peering over his shoulder, "Perfect. Just perfect."

"You approve?"

She looks up at him. "Of course, " she says, giving his arm a little squeeze. "Thank you." And she gives him a peck on the cheek as well. He beams.

In seconds, she is sitting down on the queen-sized bed. "Comfortable, too."

He joins her, bouncing a bit. "Hmmm, Good. I like a bed with give. Don't you?" Then catches her eye.

She laughs.

He bounces a bit more then reaches for the shopping bag, now on the floor at her feet.

"Oh no. You can't have it, " she says, snatching it back. "Well," she amends, "you can. But not now." And she holds it just out of his reach.

"Why not?" he asks, his hand snaking a bit towards the bag.

She smacks his hand. "No. You will simply have to wait." Then keeping the bag with her, she goes over towards the bathroom. "Oh, " she says. "Look."

He joins her. "Perfect, " he says, his arm slipping around her waist. "For two, that is."

xoxo

Not long at all, shopping bag thrown in closet, clothes strewn over the bed, both are relaxing in the claw-footed tub. They face each other on either end. "Oh," she says, as she trails her hand in the oil scented water, "this is heavenly."

"Ummm..." He extends his leg. His toes soon brush against her leg. Then slowly, his entire foot begins to rub her leg. And beyond.

She giggles. The water sloshes a bit.

"Come here," he says.

"There's no room," she says.

"There is if you sit on my lap, " he says.

"Then there'll be even less room."

He gestures to his lap." Ruth. Here. Now."

Giggling again, she crawls over to him, the water sloshing some more. And soon finds that he is right: they have all the room that they need.

x0x0x0x0

She emerges first, a towel wrapped around her, another towel wrapped turban-style on her head. Going over to the closet, she reaches inside the shopping bag.

"You going to to show me what it is now?"

She jumps a bit, her hand whipping behind her back. "Harry! You scared me half to death!"

He smiles mischievously, the towel wrapped around his waist. "I'm a spy, remember?"

"Go away," she says, stepping back from him, hands still behind her back.

"Go away? After ..." And he looks towards the bathroom. "After...that?" And he smiles quite proudly.

She shakes her head. "I mean it. You can't see. Not yet."

"See what?" He asks, trying to look around her back.

"Stop," she says. "Really. You'll ruin the surprise. "

"Ok, "He says, raising both hands in defeat. And as he does, the towel slips and falls to the ground.

She giggles. Then walking backwards, her hands still behind the back, goes into the bathroom. The door locks behind her with an emphatic click.

"You really know how to take the fun out of things," he calls after her, before picking the towel off the floor.

xoxoxoox

When she emerges once again, the towel is still around her, but her hair is now dry, hanging in soft waves about her face.

"What going on?" he asks, sitting under the covers, remote control in hand. "I don't see any surprises."

She comes closer. "You don't?" she asks just before dropping her towel.

The remote falls out of his hand. She stands there almost nude, wearing nothing but the pendant he gave her and the bit of material she is wearing. He leans in closer, staring at the thong. "What the..." He leans in closer. It's what he thought it was: a map of the Underground in living color. Including of course, its ubiquitous warning now placed in a strategic spot. "'_Mind the gap_?' " he reads incredulously._ "Mind the gap?" _And he stares some more. Then he begins to laugh. When he catches his breath, he gasps, " _Mind the gap_! I thought I already _had_!" And laughs even harder, his hand now clutching at his stomach.

"I bought one for you, too." She says serenely when he takes another breath.

"What?" Then pauses. "You didn't."

Her hand whips around to the front. He stares at the matching pair of boxers.

"Put them on," she commands, her face stern despite the light in her eyes.

He shakes his head.

"You have to. It's my birthday." And she stands there patiently, holding the identical pair out to him.

He stares over at her. Then at the material in her hands. Then back up at her.

"If you dare to tell anyone, " he says moments later, snapping the waistband of the boxers up around his waist, "I will -"

"I know, I know." She says, giggling like a schoolgirl. "...have to kill me. "

"Well," he says, reaching for her, "I'd settle for _La petite morte_, my dear. "

_Mais oui, mon chéri._ And she reaches for him as well. "Just as long as you mind the gap."

He pulls her down onto the bed. "Tell you what. I'll mind yours. If you mind mine. "

x0x00x

* * *

**thanks for your input regarding "my dear." Most it seems, like it, so it stays!**

**_(merci beaucoup, mes amis!)_**

**_:)  
_**


	13. Chapter 13

_As ever, thanks for reading and your feedback! I've enjoyed celebrating R's B'day with you! Here's the last bit of it or so. I'm also hoping that happier days are ahead for H & Co., as well._

-13-

"Happy Birthday, my love," he says, leaning over, kissing her eyelids.

One at a time, her eyes open. "Oh," she says. "Is it midnight?"

He chuckles. "Past that, birthday girl."

She squints in the semi-dark at the clock on the wall.

"It's after 5," he says.

"Really?"

He nods. "Passed out again, I see," he says with a note of obvious pride.

"Tired," she says.

"Go back to sleep. Just wanted to wish you on your actual birthday before the sun came up."

"Yes." She says sleepily "Fell asleep. Just before."

"We did." He leans in even closer, his lips inches from hers. "You're lucky. Having a birthday a minute before midnight. This way you get to celebrate both days." He brushes his lips against hers.

"mmmft.."

He chuckles. "Go back to sleep."

Settling back into his arms, she is fast asleep within minutes.

He waits another ten minutes or so. Then giving credence to his profession, he slips out of bed unnoticed.

* * *

2 hours later, she awakens to find him sitting at the small desk dressed in his favourite pair of corduroys, knit shirt and slip-ons. There's a knock on the door.

"Oh!" she says, rising up a bit, clutching the sheet to herself.

He turns to her. "You're up."

"The door!"

But he's already there, hand hovering right above the doorknob. "It's fine. I'll take care of it."

"Is it housekeeping? So early? "

He doesn't reply, just smiles a bit. "Thank you, " he says just outside the door. "I'll take it from here." In moments, he is back in the room, manoeuvring the serving cart past the threshold.

Her eyes open. Wide. "What is that?"

"Breakfast." He says, wheeling it next to the small table there.

"But we didn't order..."

"We didn't. But I did," he says, smiling over at her. "Now come over here and eat your breakfast."

She complies, getting out of bed wearing nothing but his pendant. He stares a bit at her meaningfully. "Before I do, that is."

She shakes her head, her dimples flashing. "Harry." Grabbing for her dressing gown, she throws it over herself, knotting the sash with emphasis.

"Oh, well," he says, shrugging, despite his smile.

In seconds she is lifting the larger of the two shiny domed lids first. . "Pancakes! And bacon! Oh! And coffee. And jam. And ...What's in there?" she asks, pointing to the smaller one, his hand now resting upon it.

"Pick it up and find out."

She does.

"Birthday cake! Birthday cake?" She stares at him.

"Proper cake. Not pie a la mode."

She slips her arms around him. "You've thought of every...When did you do this, actually?"

"Called last night," he says. When you were in the bathroom putting on that._..That_. And he jerks his head to the chair where they had tossed the Mind the Gap thong and matching boxers.

She smiles. "You...you...Spook, you."

He shrugs, smiling at her. "But there's one more gift," he says. In here." And he motions to the closet.

"Ooh! What is it?"

He blocks her deftly with his body. "Not yet. Have breakfast first. It's getting cold."

"But...

"You will have to wait. After all," he adds a rather smug smile on his face. "Turnabout is fair play."

* * *

Wiping her lips with her napkin, she gives a contented sigh, leaning back in the chair. "That was wonderful."

"And your birthday cake?"

"You know how good it was," she says, reaching over and wiping a bit of the icing off his lips. "And I still can't believe you managed to get the chef to ..."

"Good tipper," he says, smiling, grabbing her hand and kissing it.

"But lemon-raspberry! Just like on the train! Harry, really. You never cease to amaze me."

"It's my pleasure. Really." And he kisses her hand again. "All of it."

She nods then smiles a bit vacantly. He follows her gaze to the closet door.

"Ok," He says, getting up. "But do keep in mind that it's just a little gift." Opening the closet, he reaches inside, and then holds it behind his back much as she did the previous night.

"What is it?"

"Close your eyes."

"You've really getting back at me for last night, aren't you?"

"Close your eyes," he repeats.

"I am."

"You're peeking, Ruth. I can tell. "

"Am not."

"Liar."

"Okaay." She squeezes her eyes shut.

"Open."

Her sparkly shoes stare back at her, the damaged heel now repaired.

"My shoes!" Taking them from him, she turns them this way and that. "How did you ever manage to get it fixed? So quickly? And on a Sunday?"

"Like I said, good tipper." This time he laughs outright.

"Harry." She shakes her head, eyes welling up. "You've thought of everything, You really have." She takes a breath. "I love you."

He beams at her. "That's good to know. And I love you, too, you know."

She nods up at him with luminous eyes. Then holding onto him, she slips her shoes on, one foot at a time.

"Actually," he says, as she balances herself against him, "I'm almost sorry that I had them fixed. Those heels are dangerous."

"Nonsense. They're only 3 inches."

"Is that all?" He says, shaking his head. "I'll never understand why perfectly sane women when it comes to fashion-"

"Harry." She says, untying her dressing gown. "Shut up. Please."

He does. And watches as she opens her dressing gown. Seconds later, it drops to the ground. "Perhaps," she continues, wearing only her shoes and her desire, "they'll grow on you."

"Perhaps," he says, pulling her towards him. "But rest assured it's not the only thing growing on me."

She smiles.

xoxooxox


	14. Chapter 14

**I sense that the end of SINS 2 is near; as such, I will try to give it some type of resolution if not actual closure, given its subject matter. **

**As ever, my heartfelt thanks for reading it and of course, for your encouragement, i.e., your feedback. It means more than ever, and more than I can properly express. **

**Thank you.  
**

-14-

After packing their belongings, Ruth finally gets her wish. Like so many have done before, she rests her hand on the smooth gleaming handrail, as she and Harry slowly descend the Bailey's curving staircase.

"Oh, look," she says, pointing to the stained glass window on the landing. Both move in closer and admire it.

"I think," he says, "the glass may be original. As old as the hotel, actually."

Ruth nods. "I wouldn't be surprised if it were."

They take their time going down, admiring the design of the staircase, the wrought iron balusters, its scroll-work, and the red carpeted runner on the steps.

"So lovely," she says, running her hand over the handrail for the last time.

He nods. "It is," he says as he steps onto the polished wood floor.

"Yes." She says, following behind, her voice tinged with regret. "So very lovely."

He turns back to her. "We can come back. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Of course," she says, smiling back at him. "As long as it's with you."

They beam at one another.

When they step outside, they find the sun high in a brilliant blue sky as if to compensate for the brisk temperature. "Cold?"

She shakes her head. "It's refreshing."

He nods. "So?"

"I thought we'd go to Hyde Park?"

He jerks his head down at her shoes. "In those?"

"Harry," she says, "I don't expect to actually walk from here to Oxford Street. In any shoes for that matter." And she laughs softly.

"I know," he says, as they cross the street towards his car. "But once we get there..." He shakes his head, all but glaring at her offensive footwear.

"The shoes are fine." She says a few minutes later, reaching over for her seat belt. It snaps together with a satisfying click.

"If you say so." And he manages not to shake his head as he starts the car.

"You clearly had no objection to them." And she turns her head at him before she adds meaningfully. "Before."

He cocks his head at her before a slow smile spreads across his face. "Touché. But if I remember correctly, Miss Evershed, at the time you were horizontal, not vertical."

"Well, in that case," she says, her dimples flashing, "you'll just have to hold onto me in the park."

'Rest assured, that will present no problem. None at all," he adds, smiling at her before pulling away from the kerb.

* * *

Not long after, both are staring up at the Marble Arch at the entrance to Hyde Park. Although the edifice is not new for neither of them, they spend some time examining it as if they were tourists.

"You think the story's true?"

"What story?" she asks, running her hand over one of the columns.

"You know," he says, pulling his gaze away from one of the engravings to look at her. " That Queen Victoria hated it and wanted it moved, but Albert said no. So she had a carriage built too big to pass through it. Hence its new home."

"Right," she says. But I thought that was debunked when Queen Elizabeth's coach drove through it at her coronation."

He shrugs. "One would think so. But that was in '53, and the story's still going strong."

"Of course. People like the idea of a determined woman." She says, straight-faced, despite an involuntary flash of dimples.

"Is that so? " He asks, trying hard not to smile as well.

"And that she outsmarted her husband."

"Ah. I see."

"Not that I truly believe it, you understand." And she looks purposely away from him and up at the engravings.

"That she outsmarted him? Or that woman are smarter than men? Except," he adds under his breath, "for their taste in shoes."

She meets his eyes again. "I think," she says, "that I will pass on both those statements." And she takes his hand.

He wraps his around hers. "Ah, see? Smart."

Her dimples now out in full bloom, both make their way into the park. And still holding hands, they begin to take note of every landmark, every blade of grass as if for the very first time.

* * *

They walk that way for a while until his steps slow, and he grows very quiet.

"What is it?"

He gestures at the landscape. "All the time we've wasted. Being apart, I mean. We could have-"

Firmly shaking her head she says, "We're here. Now. Really together. And that's all that matters." And she leans into him, slipping her arm through this.

"Yes, I know that. Of course," he says, patting her arm. "Of course."

"But?"

"Do you believe in second chances, Ruth?" Before she can answer, he goes on, " You. My children. This." And he sweeps his eyes over the landscape again before meeting hers again. "I know, in fact, that I have been given a second chance." And he sighs. "But I'm not sure that I deserve any of it."

She pulls back from him a bit, her eyes registering her shock. "Of course you do. More than most."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I do, " she says earnestly. "Harry, you've given so much for others. For your country. For-"

"-And lost so much. All the missed opportunities. With you. And with them. I can never get any of it back." And he sighs again. "None of it. "

"You cannot, must not think that way. You need to focus on now. The present. Not the past. " And she tugs on his arm.

"But.."

"Your children are in your life. And so am I. Here. Now. With you. And I'm not going anywhere."

He nods, patting her arm and begins to walk again.

But now it is she who stops. "Have you spoken with Graham today, actually?"

"Not yet. I'll call him a bit later. Then see him after. Like we planned."

"We've had a lovely time together. But if you're worried about him, I- "

"It's fine, Ruth." He says, patting her arm again. "Catherine's there with him." And he smiles gently at her. "Let's just enjoy the time we have. Isn't that what you just said a moment ago?"

"Yes."

"Shall we, then?"

She nods back at him.

And as if they have always been together, they walk in step, her arm through his, his hand protectively over hers. And like so many have done so before them, they walk. And walk. And simply enjoy the moment as the sun shines gloriously down upon them.


	15. Chapter 15

_Dear All: I know the last chapter had a sense of finality to it. However, SINS 2 is not quite over. A few more chapters or so and I will gently put these characters to rest. (And I promise to write " the end " when I do.)_

:)

**-15-**

"Dad," Catherine says in surprise as Harry enters the room. "You're earlier than I thought." Her face screws up in concern. " Is everything ok?"

He nods and goes over to her where she's sitting. "Everything's fine," he says, giving her arm a little squeeze. He takes in the empty wheelchair and the closed door to the toilet. "She loved _Jane Eyre_," he says, lowering his voice. "And says thank you as well."

His daughter beams up at him. "I'm glad. But I thought that you were going to take the day off. "

He shrugs. "Just wanted to check in." And he looks over towards the closed door again. "How's..."

"He's fine. But... um...I think you should ...um...know that..."

"What? Is something wrong? What's happened?" he asks, his stomach immediately clenching. He manages not to grimace at the spasm of pain.

"Oh, he's fine," she says, glancing over at the closed bathroom door. "Really. But..."

"Catherine. What is it?"

"Um," she says looking away for a split second before looking back at him. "Um...it's just that...Graham knows. About ...Ruth."

His stomach unclenches, the spasm gone as quickly as it had come. "I see," he says noncommittally. "You told him?"

"Um...well. Yeah."

"I see." He says again.

"I thought...it would be ok," she adds a bit sheepishly. "And he's ok with it, by the way." She smiles up at him uncertainly. "Are….you? Ok with it, I mean?"

He smiles at her, pats her arm. "Well, that's good to hear. That he's fine with it."

"But are you pissed off at me for telling him?" And she bites her bottom lip unconsciously.

"Of course not," he says quickly, her distress not lost on him." I was planning on telling him anyway."

Her shoulders relax a bit. "I know. And I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have. But..."

"Catie, it's fine. Really. It is. Just ...surprised me, that's all." And he smiles again at her.

She nods in relief. "I'm glad." She shrugs. "There isn't much to talk about here, you know. He's bored. And so am I. And so... Well. Now that you…Well, you know." And she shrugs again. "Sorry."

"Ah, I see. So your old man's...fair game, now. Hmmm?" he says, the light in his eyes belying his words.

Her eyes, so much like his, light up as well. But before she can respond, the door to the toilet opens.

Gripping onto his walker, Graham slowly makes his way into the room, staring up at his father much like his sister had done so moments ago. "Here?"

"Yes," Harry says, smiling. "I'm here. In the flesh." Stepping aside to give his son more room to manoeuvre his walker, he asks, "So how was your thera-"

"Bad...Date?" Graham asks, stopping and leaning on his walker.

Harry's mouth drops open.

Graham continues to smile up at him crookedly.

Catherine laughs outright.

He remembers to shut his mouth but not before shooting a look at Catherine. "No," he answers his son, managing to keep a straight face if not his actual dignity. "Everything was...quite ...nice. Thank you for asking," he says, going over to the wheelchair in the corner. "Um. Do you need...Is this lock on?" And he bends down and begins to fiddle with the locking mechanism.

"Dad, it's locked. I did it myself. You're just stalling."

He jerks his head up at his daughter, and when he does, he catches the look exchanged between his children. Right before they look at him. Knowingly. And waiting.

Leaving the wheelchair, he goes over to the bed and sits on the edge, facing them. Then clearing his throat, he asks, "Why is it I feel as if I'm being interrogated?"

Catherine and Graham smiles light up the room. "C'mon, Dad." She says, leaning in a bit. "Spill."

"Yes." Graham adds, still leaning on his walker. "Spill."

"Ah," Harry says to Graham. "So you want to know, too."

His son nods vigorously. And when he does, Harry is struck with how much stronger Graham has become, especially in the last few days it seems.

"Well," he says, taking a breath, "She...Ruth, that is….She…. She's a lovely woman."

"I told him that, already." His daughter says impatiently. "C'mon, Dad. Tell us something that we don't know."

"Well, what else did you tell him, Catie?"

She shrugs, a mischievous smile on her face. He looks over to his son. His expression matches his sister's. And in that moment, Harry is taken back to when they were both younger. So very much younger. And looked up at him with adoration. Love.

And it is then that Harry knows that his relationship with them has really and truly changed. Unequivocally. _Another miracle,_ he thinks. And when he smiles back at them, he knows that he has a ridiculous grin on his face. And couldn't care less.

"So? Catherine says.

"So?" Graham echoes.

Still grinning, Harry leans in towards them as well. "_So_…"


	16. Chapter 16

_Dear All: I'm bowled over (in a good way!) by your lovely feedback, especially for the last few chapters or so. And though I'm not sure it's actually deserved, I'm still smiling._

xo

**-16-**

Having satisfied his children's curiosity about Ruth and his "date" as much as Harry feels is appropriate that is, all soon part with smiles all around. Still smiling, he rounds the hospital corridor, nearly colliding with Graham's primary care physician, Dr. Weston. "Glad I caught you," the doctor says. "Saves me a phone call," he adds, smiling.

The smile is lost on Harry. "Is something wrong with—?"

"On the contrary. Your son is doing well. In fact, we're looking to release him within the next week or so."

"That soon?"

Weston studies Harry before replying. "I assure you, Mr Pearce, we would not do so unless we thought it appropriate."

"I understand that. But Graham has..." He drops his voice a bit. "There are certain circumstances that may shed a different light upon your decision."

Weston frowns. "Are you concerned about his substance abuse problem?"

Harry's eyes shift to the people milling about in the corridor. "Actually, I'd like to discuss this further with you. In private. And as soon as possible."

Glancing down at his watch, Weston says, "How about now?"

"Please."

"We can speak over in there," Weston says, gesturing down the hall. "My office."

Not long after at all, both men sit facing one another in Weston's office, diplomas on the wall and heavy oak desk between them. Except this time it is Harry sitting and staring at the man behind the desk. And as he does, he is struck with the unwelcome sensation of being out of his element. No desk in front of him. No one waiting for him to speak. Waiting for him to make the hard decisions. Life and death decisions. And more often than not, affecting thousands of lives. Perhaps more. Many more. And his only weapon of choice his intelligence and expertise. And his instinct. For the greater good. Always for the greater good.

"There are extenuating circumstances," Harry says, "aside from my son's substance abuse problem."

The physician tilts his head at Harry, fixing deep-set eyes upon him.

"His mother has recently been diagnosed with cancer. Stage 4 breast cancer."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Weston says. "Is she unable able to care for him?"

"Not at this time, thankfully. But if she should become ...unable to care for him sometime in the future, then he will be taken care of. By me," he adds firmly.

"Then I'm not quite sure that I understand."

"He doesn't know," Harry says. "About his mother. We thought it best not to tell him given his medical condition."

"I see," Weston says impassively.

"But my son is quite astute."

"Yes, that much is obvious."

"Yes. Quite bright. Always has been. Which is why," he goes on, "I'm concerned that when he is released he will soon figure it out. And become quite angry. And how he will actually react to the news itself." And he pauses before going on. "You can see my concern, can't you?"

Weston rubs his chin before speaking. "Absolutely. But there is no medical reason at this time why he should remain in the dark about his mother."

"He almost died." Harry says, staring across at the other man.

"Yes. He very nearly did," he says, nodding his head. "But your son is also a survivor. Beaten the odds. He's also young and determined. And continues to make wonderful progress which is why he is ready to be released." He stares back at Harry. "You do realize of course, he will still be coming here for therapy. And this includes the substance abuse program as well."

"Yes. But l..."

"Again, he's making excellent progress. In both, I'm told."

"And I want him to continue to do so. I just do not know if he's...Harry shifts a bit in the chair. "Actually, I thought I had more time. Before he was told."

"Mr Pearce, Graham is not the first patient, nor will he is my last, I'm afraid, who has to deal with bad news. And that includes terminally ill family members. And while it is true that in rare cases we have withheld certain information from our most critically ill patients, once they have stabilised, they are told the truth. No matter how painful it is." He sighs, "It is never easy. For the patient. Or for any of us, for that matter. But," he adds earnestly, "we cannot shield our patients, nor our loved ones from reality."

Harry nods. "I just want to do the right thing. I certainly don't like keeping the truth from him. But on the other hand, I am more than concerned how he will react when he does find out. How he will handle it. The ...repercussion." Taking a breath, he goes on. "He and his mother are close. Quite close, in fact. And Graham," he adds, "has always been sensitive."

Weston nods back. "Your son will continue to need support, of course. But as I said, he is already getting such support here. "

Harry nods. "And I am grateful for that, naturally. But when he should find out about his mother, I am truly concerned he will plunge into depression." And he looks away for a moment before going on. "And if the pressure gets too much for him..."

"Relapse," Weston says. "Go back on drugs. And if he does, it would be disastrous. Quite probably fatal. So yes, I do understand your concern. And for the record, depression is a very real symptom of stroke victims as well. "

Harry clears his throat drily before going on. "So you understand why I'm not chomping at the bit for him to be released so soon."

"Of course. But keeping him here when it is no longer medically necessary is not in his best interest. And I cannot in all good conscience recommend doing so."

"But I-"

"I cannot tell you what to do. About his mother, of course. That is a decision you and your family must make. But I can say this: patients quite often become angry because they are treated differently by their family members, even with the best of intentions."

_ Road. Paved. Good intentions_. Jane's recent words to him skip unbidden across Harry's mind. He shakes his head a bit, pushing the memory away, turning his attention back to Weston.

"And since he is quite astute," the doctor is saying," it's entirely likely he will figure it out anyway. Either home. Or here. Picking up on nuances. Observing his mother. His family. And then of course, if she becomes noticeably ill. Or any number of any factors. "

"I know," Harry says, a pained look on his face. "I know."

"Mr Pearce," Weston says leaning in a bit, "I also have a son. Graham's age, actually. So when I say I know how much we as parents want to do the right thing, I mean it." He nods with feeling. "We want to protect them. Even as adults. But..." He shakes his head, giving a little shrug.

"It's just that he's doing so well, " Harry says. His spirits are up. He's ..."

"Ready to be sent home."

"So you are still intent on releasing him."

"Medically speaking, it is for his benefit. He continues to improve. And this is simply the next step in the course of his treatment. "

"Then my next question is when I should actually tell him about his mother. Before or after his release."

Weston shakes his head. "That's a hard call to make for anyone, least of all me."

"If he were your son?"

"If I had a pence or two," and he smiles sardonically, "for every time that a patient's loved one asked me that….."

"And what do you tell them?"

"What does your gut tell you?" He says. "That's what I tell them," he adds. Then locks eyes with Harry. "What does yours tell you ?"

"Let him get settled in after he's released. " Harry replies quickly, as if he knew the answer all along. "Then tell him. And then...watch him. Carefully."

Weston nods approvingly. "I often find parents somehow know instinctively what to do. Far more than I do in such personal matters. After all, he's your son. Not mine," And he smiles.

Harry nods and stands up, extending his hand. "Thank you."

"Thank you for your frankness," Weston says, standing up as well and grasping Harry's hand. "You know," he says, "He's lucky to have such a wonderful family. Often it makes all the difference in the world. For all of us. We might not be able to protect them from ...well, life." And he shrugs again. "But having a supportive family..." And he smiles warmly. "He's truly lucky to have you."

Weston's parting words play over and over in Harry's brain as he takes the lift down to the garage._ He's lucky to have you." Lucky to have you. Lucky to..._ The lift pings and the door slides open. "Lucky to have him," he says aloud, stepping out from the lift. And he finds that despite his concern about telling Graham about his mother, just saying the words, hearing them spoken aloud, somehow makes it all a bit better. ""Lucky to have him," he repeats. And his step a bit lighter, he heads to his car.


	17. Chapter 17

_Hi All: Sorry for the bit in delay in updating. Rest assured I am trying to write a plausible ending for SINS 2 which is drawing to a close. Alas, RL intrudes. Thanks once more for hanging in there...and no, this is NOT the last chapter! (There are a few more to go!)_

xo

**-17-**

"But did you explain to her that-?"

"-I recounted verbatim my conversation with Weston and-"

"-And does she understand that it would only be after he's home and settled in?"

Harry sighs. "Yes." And shakes his head. "But she's still adamant. And refuses to tell him. And in fact, insists there is no reason why we should do so at this time."

Both are sitting at Harry's kitchen table, mugs of tea in front of them, virtually untouched. He stares across at her. And waits. Lifting her mug up to her mouth, Ruth takes just a sip before setting it down again. Then stares past him. Thinking. And when she does, it's as if he can see the innermost mechanisms of her facile mind working, analysing the situation. And despite his concern for his son and Jane's refusal to tell him about her cancer, Harry inwardly smiles, watching the woman he loves and the workings of her supple mind.

Her eyes refocus upon him, and she tilts her head at him. "What?"

This time he does smile a bit. "If we could only clone you," he says.

Despite her smile, her lovely eyes are troubled. "I can understand Jane's concern. Graham's been through so much. So she wants to protect him. But he does need to be told, Harry. Hiding the truth from him, no matter how painful, is not the answer. I'm quite sure of it. "

He nods across the table at her. "I know that. And I understand her reaction as well. It's taken _me_ a while to accept that he needs to be told." He exhales noisily. "And as much as I'm not looking forward to actually telling him, there is no other real option." Taking another breath, he goes on. "And if he should find out on his own, it will be..." He shakes his head, looking away.

"He will feel betrayed."

He turns his gaze back to her. "Yes." Shaking his head again, he says, "if you could have seen the look in his eyes early on when his therapist called him a boy."

"A boy?" Her eyes widen in disbelief. "Why on earth would she do that?"

"Just an expression, I suppose. She was simply praising him in therapy. His progress," he goes on to explain. "Something like 'good boy!'"

Ruth flinches slightly. "Ah, I see. Still..."

"Yes." He sighs. "It bothered him. Deeply." And when he raises his eyes to her, his own mirror the pain in his son's that day. "So demeaning. To him. This young man. Working so hard. To talk. To raise his hand. To ..." He swallows drily. "He felt exactly the way I would feel in his place."

"Yes. Of course," she says, reaching over and squeezing his hand a little.

"And he's was just regaining his confidence. Doing so well." He pauses before going on. " I reminded him that nothing could be further from the truth. About being a boy, I mean. That what he was doing is ...That... I was... am.. proud of him."

"You should be," she says firmly. "Proud of him."

He nods. "I think he believes that. At least I hope so. But he's always lacked confidence. Despite his intellect. His gifts. I don't know why. Maybe," he says, her hand forgotten upon his, "if I had been there for him. Been a better father. And..." He looks away again.

"Harry," she says, patting his hand now. "This is not about you. Not now."

He lifts his eyes to hers again. "Isn't it?"

"No. It's about us. I mean _you_," she amends quickly, "having to convince Jane, as difficult as it is, that Graham needs to be told the truth. Before he finds out. And he will. If you-"

"You said _we_." And he smiles just a bit.

She colours slightly. Her hand lifts off of his, and reaches for her mug, her fingers tracing the rim. "I only meant..." Her hand stills, and then slips around the mug, the hot tea warming her hand.

"You're part of my family now, Ruth." He says quietly but firmly.

"I don't want to intrude."

"Stuff and nonsense."

"Stuff and nonsense?" A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "That's an expression I've never heard you use. Or thought you would. "

He shrugs. "What can I say? You've made me into, "and he shrugs, "a new man."

"Harry. There was...is...nothing wrong with the old man." And when she smiles, her dimples flash as well.

"Ah. Well." And this time it is he who reaches over, giving her hand a little squeeze.

"Perhaps it's not so much the son that needs shoring up." And she stares meaningfully across at him.

He shrugs. "At any rate, I cannot go against Jane. At least I sincerely hope it won't come to that. But time is running out."

"How about Catherine?"

He frowns. "Catherine?"

"Haven't you discussed this with her?"

"Actually..." And he shrugs again.

Her eyes open wide. "You haven't?"

"All three of us, as you know, thought it wise to keep this from Graham. At the time, of course."

"Right. At the time." And she waits for him to say something.

" Well, no," he says slowly, "I haven't discussed this with her since then. Or my conversation with Weston, either," he adds.

"Don't you think it reasonable to do so?"

"I don't want her to be in the middle."

"In the middle?"

"She's always been in the middle. Well, Graham, too, of course."

"You're talking about the divorce. When they were," and she pauses a bit, "children."

He nods. "Well, yes. And she's so much happier now that Jane and I have declared a truce. But now..."

"Didn't you also tell me that she wanted to be treated as an adult?" Before he can answer she goes on. "Isn't this, in fact, the crux of the matter? About being honest with your children? Treating them as adults?"

He shifts a bit in his chair. "Well, yes. But if I ask her, and she feels pulled in different directions-"

"You think that by asking for her opinion, it will destroy this...truce?"

"Frankly, it's already threatened. It took all my willpower not to shake some bloody sense into her mother."

"Harry." She says only, but her eyes speak volumes.

"See what I mean? I'm already getting pissed off. At her. Jane. And yes, I know. I should have more patience with her. Given the circumstances. I just don't want Catherine involved in this. It should be between Jane and me. We just will have to work it out."

"Are you quite sure about that?"

"How do you know that she will support me?"

"I think the important thing is that you discuss this with her. As an adult."

He stares across at her for a long moment. "You're right, "he says, finally, nodding his head. "I should at least tell Catherine what is going on. She deserves to be told. As far as she knows, all of us are still all in agreement not to tell him unless...well, Jane gets worse, that is." He looks at Ruth, smiling gently at him. "I'm going to speak with my daughter. Hopefully, she will see how important this is. That Graham is told the truth. But I don't know, Ruth. What if she disagrees? And both she and her mother ..." And he shakes his head doubtfully.

"Then you will simply have to explain it to both of them until they see the error of their ways. I know you can do it. All of you need to be on the same page. "

"You have a lot more faith in me than I do."

"Harry. I've seen you in action. Marvelled at your ability to think quickly. Concisely. Disarm situations that would intimidate most men." And when she smiles, it is incandescent. "You can do this. Convince Jane. I know you can."

"I'd almost welcome a red-flash right about now," he says.

"Sorry?" Her lovely brow creases as she leans in a bit, nonplussed.

He smiles sardonically. "You know what I mean. I'd rather deal with global ...whatever." And he shrugs again. "Rather than this...domestic...stuff. "

"You're doing just fine, Harry. On both fronts."

"You're good for the ego. Know that, my love?"

She gets up, and walks over to where he's sitting, and slips her arm around him. "Know what else is good for the ego?

"What?" He asks, smiling up at her, knowing full well the answer.

"Guess, " she says, tugging at his hand.

"I already have," he says, his hand wrapping around hers. Together, they walk out of the kitchen and down the hall. And still holding hands, they make their way upstairs.


	18. Chapter 18

_Thanks for reviews/reading. Here's another one...hope you enjoy... *******  
_

xo

**-18-**

Before Harry actually reaches the front door, he can hear the yapping coming from the other side, inside the house. He grins and is still doing so when the door opens, his friend and former colleague in the doorway and holding fast to the little Jack Russell terrier.

"Hey, girl," Harry says to the vigorously squirming dog in Malcolm's arms. In response, Scarlet practically leaps out of his arms into her master's who catches her expertly. "You little terror," he croons to her as she gives his face a thorough tongue-lashing. "I could hear you all the way from the driveway."

"Guess she missed you," Malcolm says, smiling at both man and beast now reunited.

Tucking the wriggling Scarlet under one arm, Harry says, "It's not like I haven't visited. Right, girl?" He lets her lick his face a few more seconds, then swiping his face with his sleeve, finally sets her down on the floor.

"Ah, but she knows that this time you've come to take her home. For good. Don't you, Scarlet?"

The little dog barks madly, running circles around Harry who laughs outright. "You do, don't you," he croons, reaching down to ruffle the top of her head. "You ready to come back home? Hmmm? I've missed you. You little..." He stops suddenly. And straightening up, he shrugs a bit sheepishly.

"Ah, man and his dog," Malcolm says only, his round blue eyes sparkling.

As if in agreement, Scarlet yaps even more and attempts to climb up Harry's leg.

"Oh, hush," Harry says, bending towards her again. "You'll disturb..." And he looks up at his friend again. "Where is your mother, anyway? Not unwell, I hope?"

"No. Not at all, " he says, finally ushering in Harry and closing the door behind him. "Just having a bit of a lie-in. Her hearing aids are out," he hastens to say at Harry's look of chagrin. "Won't hear anything."

"Ah," Harry nods. "I'm glad. And that she's doing well, of course."

"As well as can be expected. Thank you."

"It is I who should be thanking you. Putting up with this little terror," Harry says, eying Scarlet who although finally quiet and no longer climbing up his leg, now leans into it as if she were glued to it. As he looks down at her, her bit of a tail begins to wag madly, her solid body following suit.

Malcolm waves a hand at Harry. "My pleasure, really. And Mother... well, became quite attached to this little," and he glances down at Scarlet as well, "terror. As you put it," he adds, chuckling softly. "In fact, it was truly good for her. Mother, I mean."

Harry's s eyes open. "I hope my taking Scarlet won't pose a problem."

Malcolm shakes his head. "Oh, no. it's fine. In fact," he says, smiling even more, "after Mother wakes, we're taking a trip to a local breeder in the village."

Harry's eyes open even more. "Don't tell me."

Malcolm nods. "Yes. We've become quite fond of the breed. And as luck would have it, the breeder has a litter of Jack Russells. And ready to be adopted. Rough-coated as well. Like her." And he glances down at Scarlet again before looking back at Harry. "We've actually chosen one already. And a name. Rusty," he adds. "Not exactly original, I know, but still." And he smiles.

"It's perfect, " Harry says, smiling broadly. "Perhaps Scarlet and he...?"

Malcolm shakes his head. "She. Was a toss-up between Jackie or Rusty, but Mother won. "And he shrugs benignly.

"Mother knows best, after all."

"Right," Malcolm says, wryly. "Always."

Both men chuckle at that.

"At any rate, "Harry says a, moment later, "I'm sure that Rusty and Scarlet will become fast friends."

Malcolm nods. "Mother, I'm sure, will get a kick out of that."

Harry nods. Both men stand there for a moment, silent.

"Really, Malcolm," Harry says, after clearing his throat, " I owe you a good bottle..or two, of malt. I couldn't have . Well... done what needed to be done without your help. I'm indeed indebted to you."

Malcolm flaps his hand at him. "My pleasure. Really. And as I said, it's been good for Mother. She's a good deal happier. And quite excited at the prospect of having a dog of her own. So it is I who should be thanking you."

"Well. I'm glad for that. I know that having a pet is helpful for those…shut in. Or..." He takes a breath. "Actually," he says, "I had planned on bringing Scarlet to see Graham, but never quite got around to it."

"How is he?"

"Doing well," he says. Despite his words, his face clouds over.

"What is it?"

Harry shakes his head. "He's fine. Big day tomorrow."

"Yes, I know. But?"

Harry hesitates.

"How about a cup of tea?"

He nods gratefully, "Sounds good."

Malcolm merely nods and heads into the kitchen, Harry following, and Scarlet tagging closely behind him.

"Need a hand"? Harry asks.

Shaking his head, Malcolm motions to the chair. In seconds, Harry is sitting down, the little dog on his lap.

"So," Malcolm says, joining his friend a few minutes later, "Whatever it is, please tell me it's not...Ruth."

"No. She...We're fine. " And when he smiles, his entire face softens.

"Ah. Good. That's good. Very good." And he smiles across the table, nodding.

"Yes, I know you think so. And for the record," he says, stirring his tea, "so do I." And he all but beams across at the other man.

"She's good for you. "

"Agreed," he says, still smiling broadly.

"So if that's good...then?"

His smile fades, and he reaches for his mug. "I'm worried about Graham."

"But you said that he's doing well."

"Yes. Now. But ..." Carefully setting his mug back down on the table, Harry studies Malcolm for a long moment. Malcolm in turn, says nothing. And waits.

And moments later, Harry begins to tell his friend all about it.

* * *

******* _Edited to reflect recent feedback/info from espiyo regarding puppy adoption/breeders._


	19. Chapter 19

_Here's an update, setting up the conclusion which is not far off now. (It's in my head; I just need some time to do it justice.)_

_Thanks again for sticking with this story. I could not have done this without you!_

xo

-19-

The day finally arrives. Graham is going home. _Should be home by now_, Harry reckons, glancing at his wristwatch. And though he very much wanted to share in the moment, he had eventually bowed to Jane's wishes: she and Catie would see to Graham's release. And as his former wife put it, "drive him home with a minimum of fuss." After, she had said, Harry could come for a visit. Later on in the day.

_Minimum of fuss, _he thinks_, _a sour look on his face. "I'm his father. His_ father_," he says under his breath, shuffling some papers on his desk, and mentally counting to ten. _ But you agreed, _he reminds himself_. _And some facts, he reminds himself as well, are inescapable; Graham lives with his mother. And would continue to do so. Unless...He shakes his head. Then of course, there's the delicate truce between him and Jane which could fall apart with the least provocation. He sighs. Graham's needs must come first. And as such, he grudgingly admits, perhaps Jane is right on some level: less fanfare for Graham's release; the transition from patient to a civilian not an easy one. Perhaps more so for Graham. Still dependent. Still using a walker. Struggling for words. Sleeping downstairs. In what used to be his office, much later a playroom for the children. And now converted into a bedroom for his son.

_Just until he's stronger_, he tells himself. _Just for a while._ He goes back to staring at his watch. The very same one which his children had given to him so many years ago. A birthday present. And purchased with their own money, their childish faces looking up at him. Proud. Smiling. Before it all went bad.

He's still looking at it when he feels her presence. And when he looks up, she is exactly as he knew she would be: standing in the threshold, a sympathetic look on her face. "He's probably home now," she says, her voice so very gentle.

He nods at her. "Yes. Or should be. I mean, he's been released over an hour ago." His eyes flit over to the mobile, still silent on his desk. "Just waiting for Catie to ring me up."

"She'll call soon. I'm sure." Stepping all the way into his office, she slides the heavy door shut, drawing nearer to him. "It'll be alright, Harry. It will."

He looks at her, shaking his head. "I wish I had your confidence in that."

She doesn't say anything for a moment, only touches his arm.

His face softens. "I don't know what to wish for, Ruth."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," he says.

She nods. Then sits down in the chair across from his desk. "I suppose I do. In hospital, he was safe. Cared for. You could see him everyday. Sharing in his progress. And now he's home. And you're worried about him. When he will find out. About his mother. How he will react. What he will..."

"—Do. For the rest of his life, actually."

"He's doing so well."

"Yes. But for how long?"

"There are no guarantees for any of us," she says, softly, as soft as the expression on her face.

He sighs. "But with him—"

"—Harry." She says. "I"m a bit peckish. Let's get a bite to eat, shall we?"

He nods. "You go ahead. I'm not really hungry."

"You said that this morning as well."

He shrugs.

"And you fed Scarlet your breakfast," she says. "All of it, in fact."

He shrugs again. "Was her homecoming, too." Then adds, his tone aggrieved. "Al least I get to see_ her_."

"I'm glad she's back," she says evenly. "And when Graham comes to visit, she'll be good for him, too."

"You think he will?"

"Come to visit? Of course."

"He hasn't you know," he says, becoming more morose by the moment. "Not there. Not for a long time."

"Harry," she says firmly, "that was then. Now you have a good relationship with him. "

He only shakes his head. "Now that he's back with his mother. Well..." Taking a breath, he goes on. "It will be different. I probably won't see him everyday. And when I do, Jane will be there. Watching."

"You can still meet him at therapy. And perhaps visit him at home when Jane steps out for a bit. She might like that. You know. Knowing someone is there when she is not."

He nods. "Yes. That's true. Still, now that he's home..." He goes back to sighing.

"And you will call him every day. See him most days. The important thing is you keep in touch."

"Of course I shall. Do you think I would do otherwise?"

She doesn't say anything, just looks steadily back at him.

'I'm sorry," he says after a moment. "I am. I'm just..."

"I understand."

"No," he says, shaking his head, "I shouldn't take it out on you. He stretches a hand out towards her. "Forgive me?"

She reaches out a bit and pats his hand. "One condition."

He leans in.

"You take me to lunch. Now."

He manages a smile. "You drive a hard bargain, Miss Evershed."

"Good," she says, dimples flashing. She stands up. "Shall we then?"

Grabbing his mobile, he slips it into his pocket. She slides the door open. And he follows. Discreet. Professional. The superior and his officer. Together. But not too close. They smile and nod at his officers, her colleagues. All exchange smiles. Equally professional.

Thus, decorum preserved, Harry and Ruth step through the doors.

And fooling absolutely no one.

:)


	20. Chapter 20

_Not the penultimate chapter; there's one more, I believe. AND an epilogue. :) And as ever, thanks so much for reading. I also hope to post the conclusion within the week._

_ xo_

**-20-**

Ruth, not surprisingly, was right. Catherine called. And had done so, as Ruth had also predicted, soon after she and Harry had left the Grid. According to Catherine, Graham was indeed home and now resting.

"Perhaps," Ruth says minutes later, to a visibly relieved Harry sitting across from her at a local pub, "you could take her out for dinner. Then stop over to see Graham with her as well. "

"That's an idea," he says. "A good one, in fact." And he smiles at her, reaching up and touching his pocket with the mobile. "I'll call her back in a bit."

"And at dinner, you can also discuss with her about telling Graham. You know," she says, picking up her glass of water and taking a delicate sip, "about Jane."

"Ah," he says.

Setting the glass down carefully, she says, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I only thought that—"

"Ruth. Please. Stop."

Her face flushes suddenly, and she begins to speak, her words tripping over one another. "I will. I'm sorry. Truly. I —"

"—No. no. You misunderstand me," he says almost as quickly, reaching across the small table, and giving her hand a quick pat. "You're not intruding." And he shakes his head. "Don't you know by now anything you have to say about them, I welcome?" He leans in a bit, dropping his voice. "Really. You should know that by now, " he says, a gentle smile on his face.

Taking a tremulous breath, she nods, managing a smile. "I'm...glad. It's just that...well, they're not my children. And I don't want you to think that I'm-"

"What?" he asks, still smiling, "taking an interest?"

"It's a fine line, Harry," she says. "But yes, whatever interests you, interests me, of course."

"That's encouraging," he says, still smiling.

"Still," she goes on, 'it's s not really my place. I —"

"Ruth." And he shakes his head.

"I-"

He holds his hand up, effectively silencing her. She nods then, her face still a bit pink.

"On the contrary," he says firmly, "it _is_ your place. I…" he begins, his glance taking in the half-filled pub. "You know how I feel about you. And if you hadn't been there…from…well...the start...I don't know how I …" And he shakes his head again.

"You would have managed. I'm quite sure of that."

"I'm glad you are even if I'm not. Still, you know how much I value your opinion. Your analytical skills. Your-"

"You're talking about work, Harry."

Again he shakes his head, this time vehemently. "On the contrary. I'm talking about you. All of you."

"I'm...glad. I am." But I just don't want to interfere."

"For God's sakes, woman. What do I have to do to convince you?" And not giving a damn who's listening or watching, he talks her hand in his, bringing it to his lips and kisses it. Then holds onto it for dear life.

Her dimples flash, and she holds fast to his hand as well.

"The way you see things," he goes on. "The depth of your feelings. Your passion. Your...heart."

"I'm glad you feel that way," she says again, her dimples now out in full force.

"Then believe me," he says earnestly, her hand still in his. "Believe me when I tell you …..How much …" He shakes his head, but he's smiling. "Do I need to say it?"

"No. But you can remind me. Later," she adds, softly. "But not in so many words, that is." And she squeezes his hand a bit.

"I'll do my best," he says, sotto voce, squeezing it back. Then saying nothing else, he just stares across at her, with a hint of a smile, his gaze telling her everything she needs to know.

She blushes. Again.

* * *

"I shouldn't be surprised," he says to her in way of greeting, hours later at her place.

"About what?" she asks, ushering him in, and taking note at his pleased expression.

"That you were right. As usual."

"About?"

"About taking her out to dinner. Talking to her."

"It went well, then?"

"Better than I had hoped for, actually."

"Really?" she asks, reaching up, stroking his velvet collar.

He stays her hand, kissing it like he had hours ago in the pub. Then leans in and kisses her on the lips. "Yes," he says, before kissing her again, his arms now going around her.

"Tell me," she says, her arms slipping around him as well.

"Well," he says, reluctantly stepping back a bit. "Productive meeting with Catie. And great meeting with Graham."

"I'm so glad. What happened?" And she gestures towards the kitchen before heading there.

"He's happy to be home," he says, slipping of his coat. "He's pensive, though," he adds, joining her a minute later. "Taking over my old office. You know. To sleep." And his own expression turns pensive as well.

"It's just temporary," she says, touching his arm before stepping past him for the kettle.

He nods. "Yes, I know. He's negotiating steps in therapy. And making real progress on that as well."

She nods back, smiling. "And your conversation with Catherine?"She reaches above for the mugs hanging on their hooks, but he beats her to it, and grabbing them, sets them on the table.

"She agrees. With me. She knows Graham has to be told. But she wants to speak with her mother first." He pauses then adds, "I agreed. But I'm still not sure if that's the best way to handle it. But Catie …"and he shrugs.

"I'm so glad that progress is being made on that account as well."

"Because of you."

"Nonsense, "she says, setting spoons next to the mugs.

"I would still be at a loss how to broach it, if at all, with her."

"I'm just glad she agrees with you."

"Yes. But…." He stands there and begins to rub his chin, a faraway look in his eyes.

"I know. It's worrisome. But I really believe it will work out."

His eyes focus upon her again. "What else do you see in that crystal ball of yours, Ruth?"

"I see a man whom I love."

"Ah. I like what you see." And he moves in closer. "Anything else?"

Eyes sparkling, her arms go around him. "No crystal ball needed, my love." She says, just before kissing him.

He leans in, wrapping his muscular arms around her, kissing her back. Then begins to nuzzle her neck.

Minutes later, the kettle clicks off...

...forgotten.


	21. Chapter 21

_HI ALL: So sorry for the delay in updating! But here's a new one! I'm working on the next one as well and hope to post soon. As ever, thanks for reading and feedback. And on the last: I wonder who will get the 100th review?_

_ (I'm assuming there will be at least ONE review!) :)_

**-21-**

Poker in hand, Harry jabs at the wood in the fireplace, the fire crackling and hissing in return. Nodding in satisfaction, he replaces the poker on its stand then looks to Ruth sound asleep on his couch, an afghan covering her. Smiling, he glances down towards Scarlet, curled up in her basket not far from the fire.

"Guess it's just you and me tonight, hey, girl?"

The little terrier picks her head up, inquisitive brown eyes on him, her tail thumping against the basket.

"Shh," he says quietly, glancing back at Ruth for a moment. "You'll wake her. "

As if she completely understands, Scarlet puts her head back down, her tail now still. But her bright eyes remain fixed upon her master.

"Yes," he croons at her, "you're a good girl. Aren't you?"

"Glad you think so."

Jerking his head towards Ruth, he says, "I thought you were asleep."

"Not really," she says, a yawn belying her words.

"Sorry," he says as he goes over to her, joining her on the other end of the couch. Picking up her feet, he gently places them in his lap and begins to rub them.

"Hmmm...Nice."

"Yes. Nice and peaceful."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, his mobile on the end table rings.

"When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?" he says wryly as he reaches for his phone. Reading its display, he turns to Ruth and mouths _Jane._ All vestiges of sleepiness gone, Ruth immediately pushes herself into an upright position, her eyes fixed on him much like Scarlet moments ago.

"Jane." He says into the phone, "is everything?—

"I just spoke with Catherine. What right do you have to involve her in this?"

"I'm sorry if it upsets you, but I –"

" I. _You._ Always_ you._"

"On the contrary," he says between clenched teeth. "This is really what is best for Graham."

"And exactly how is going behind my back and speaking to Catherine a reflection of that?"

Despite his clenched teeth, he manages to reply quietly. "Jane, please. Listen for a moment." He waits, his stomach now clenching in concert with his teeth. When no one says anything, he says into the silence, "I'm truly worried about Graham."

"The implication being that I am not?"

"Of course you are," he says, his tone still measured despite the headache that suddenly appears, competing with the pain in his stomach. "I understand that you want to to protect him. I did—do, too."

"Then answer me this. Why did you go to Catherine? Instead of speaking to me again?"

He takes a breath, the pain in his head growing with each word. "It's been on my mind for some time actually. And after I spoke with Weston, I do feel it's the right thing to do. For Graham."

"You've answered only one question."

"I thought," he says, "that you and I and Catherine could come together. Show unity. Strength. Help him to …"

"You thought."

He closes his eyes, the pain between them now thrumming steadily. "I only wanted to-"

"Engage Catherine as an ally. Against her unreasonable mother. "

"Jane, no," he says, his voice finally rising against his best efforts. Dimly, he registers a cool hand on his arm. Taking in Ruth at his side with sympathetic look on her face, he manages a slight nod at her. Then takes a deep breath and merely waits for his ex-wife to go on.

"Why not speak with me, then?"

"Alright," he says quietly, "I'm sorry. I suppose I should have come to you again. "

"You _suppose._"

Taking another breath, he says, "I'm worried that Graham will find out sooner or later. And when he does he will feel betrayed that we didn't give him enough credit to handle it. " He pauses a moment then goes on, this time more firmly, but still quietly. "It simply isn't fair to him. Not to know. It isn't.""

"Fair? What's fair? My having cancer?"

"Think about it," he says only. "Please. He will figure it out. You know how bright he is. And when he does, he will never forgive any of us. " His voice drops another notch, and he begins to speak with more urgency. "He needs to believe in his own strength. And that we see him as an adult. Not someone that needs to be protected. Especially now," he adds. "Because of his condition."

"You must think even less of me that I thought."

"I...no. That is simply not true. Why would you even say such a thing?"

"Why? Because you speak about giving credit but fail to do so with me. As if I am unintelligent or insensitive to the needs of my son."

"I..."

"Again. Do you think I need both my daughter and ex-husband to convince me of, as you put it, the fair thing to do? Do you truly believe this has not been on my mind?"

"I..."

"Our son is recovering from a stroke. And has a substance abuse problem. And is disabled. And-"

"An adult who happens to be disabled."

"How dare you preach to me?"

He squeezes his eyes shut. "I don't mean to."

"Then don't. And as I was saying before I was interrupted, I_ have_ been giving this a great deal of thought. Weighing his needs. And the truth. And as surprising as this may be to you, I also agree that he needs to be told. And for much the same reasons which you have cited."

His eyes snap open. "You do?"

"On one condition."

"What?"

_"_I will tell him. Not you. Not Catherine. And no so-called family meeting."

"But don't you think that—"

"I know what I think. And feel. And may I remind you, Harry, that this is_ my_ illness. And as such, I will discuss it with him. "

"When?"

"At the appropriate time."

"Which is?"

"In the near future. You have my word. Do I have yours?"

"Yes, " he replies immediately. "But when you do—"

"I will inform you. Immediately. And Catherine. But if either one of you should tell him before I do, I shall not forgive you. Either one of you, " she reiterates. "Is that clear?"

"Yes."

Then I shall take you at your word. Goodbye, Harry." And with no further salutation, she simply rings off.

"God, that woman," he says, staring down at the mobile, still in hand.

Ruth pats his hand. "I think you handled it well."

He looks up at her, incredulous. "Well? I wanted to wring her bloody neck." He stands up, shaking his head. "Wretched woman," he goes on, speaking as much to himself as to Ruth. "She agrees. _Agrees._ But wants to tell him._ Herself_. And will let me know._ After_." And he shakes his head again in disgust. "To pick up the bloody pieces, she means. Bloody woman," he says again as well.

"I gathered as much. I mean that she agreed. "

He turns his gaze back towards her. "When though? When he finds out? "

"Give her a little time."

"Time, " he says, his dark eyes boring into hers, "is running out."


	22. Chapter 22

_Dear All: Here's another update. Although the conclusion is taking longer than I had thought, nevertheless, SINS 2 is drawing to a close. (Perhaps one more then the epilogue.) Once again, thanks for reading/feedback! Writing this fic and knowing that others are actually reading/responding means everything. I cannot thank you enough for doing so! :)_

Disclaimer: Kudos owns Spooks and its characters, etc.

** -22-**

After his meeting with the Home Secretary which takes up the entire morning, Harry realises that if he hurries, he can catch Graham at the rehab centre for his therapy. But when he steps into the room where Graham usually has most of his therapy, he sees that his son is not there, only other patients along with their therapists.

"Mr Pearce," a member of the staff says, looking up from her patient, "Looking for Graham?" "

"Yes, I am. Have I missed him?"

"Not at all. He's in the stairwell." And she gestures in the general direction of the staircase.

Harry's eyes open. Then he nods. "Right. Steps."

"Yes." She says. "Steps."

"Thank you," he says, before heading out towards the stairwell just down the corridor. The heavy door is propped open and as he enters he sees Graham, walking stick in hand and staring up at the steps in front of him, therapist at his side.

"Here you are," Harry says, eyes riveted upon the walking stick.

Graham and his therapist, the young woman with the short blonde hair, turn in unison.

No one says anything for a moment as Harry continues to stare at the stick. When he finally meets his son's eyes, Graham is smiling.

"We've graduated," says Laura, the therapist. "No more walker."

"Since when?"

"Since the other day, actually."

"I didn't…I…." Wordlessly, he looks across at Graham again who's still smiling at him.

"Surprise. You." He says.

"Yes. Yes, you did, indeed," Harry says, now smiling broadly.

"Birth. Day. "

"Birthday?"

"You. Soon."

"Oh, right." Harry says. If possible, he smiles even more. "And it's the best gift," he adds, "that anyone could get me."

"No surprise. Now."

"I'm sorry if I spoiled it. But—"

"Good." Graham says. "All. Good."

Harry nods, still beaming, "it certainly is." Turning to Laura, he asks, "Does this mean he will be using the walking stick from now on?"

She nods. "Yes. He has enough stability. And strength." And she nods again, turning serious. "But now it's time. Right, Graham?"

But the young man is barely looking at her, his attention once again riveted on the steps in front of him. He begins to lift his right leg, the one affected by the stroke.

"No," Laura says," not your right. Remember Graham, when you go up, your good leg first, your left. Then the weaker leg, with the stick." He nods at her and begins again, this time stepping up with his good leg.

"Now," she goes on, "use your stick and step with your right."

Laboriously, he does so, the young woman behind him, her hand inches from his back. And step by step, Graham makes his way up the stairs, all 8 of them. When he reaches the top, he turns around, Laura's hand now firmly on his arm. Graham stares down at his father. Not realising that he had been holding his breath the entire time, Harry says a bit breathlessly, "Great job, Graham. Great job."

"Yes," Laura says, "Great job. But now," she says, "we have to go down. And remember. Now you have to do the opposite."

Graham nods, lifting his right leg. "Correct," she says. "Step down with that leg using the stick. Together. And nice and slow, Graham. Nice and slow."

Once again, Harry watches with bated breath as his son slowly lowers himself down each step until at last he is standing next to Harry again. Both men stare at one another. Both perspiring. Both nodding. And both exhausted. "That's great. Just great," Harry manages to say, wiping the sheen of perspiration off his upper lip.

Leaning on his cane, his wavy hair falling across his brow, Graham merely nods.

"Well, Laura says, "I think that's enough for today, don't you?"

"Yes." Graham says, "Yes."

"I'll leave you two 'till next time, yes?"

"Thank you," both father and son reply simultaneously.

"My pleasure," she says, smiling at them. Then nodding, she disappears through the open door, leaving the two men alone. Slowly they make their way to the long bench just outside the staircase, Graham's usual place where he waits for his mother to pick him up at end of his therapy sessions.

The young man sinks gratefully down on the bench, Harry settling next to him. "You're amazing," he says. "You know that?"

Graham gives a modest shrug and when he does, Harry notes that his son's shoulders are nowhere as lopsided as they had been. "You're really getting stronger," he says.

The young man nods. Then smiles. "Hard Work."

"Yes. I know. And I know I've said this before, but it bears repeating. I'm really proud of you."

Graham doesn't respond, but he shifts a bit, reaching into the pocket of his jogging bottoms. A moment later, he pulls out a folded piece of paper.

"What's that?" Harry asks, squinting at the creased bit of paper.

Graham merely hands it to Harry who unfolds it. "Algebra, Chemistry..." He jerks his head up. "What? Is this ..."

"Yes. Uni."

Harry looks back down at the paper in hand then up at his son again. He opens his mouth, but no words come. But he finds as he stares into his son's eyes, no words are necessary. No words are necessary at all.


	23. Chapter 23

**Dear Reader: This chapter is dedicated to _you _for taking the time to leave feedback. Thank you. :)**

Disclaimer: Kudos owns Spooks and all its characters, etc.

_Epilogue to follow._

* * *

**"The Child is Father to the Man"**

**- W. Wordsworth.**

-23-

"C'mon girl, Ruth's waiting," he tells the little terrier, unsnapping her leash from her brief sojourn in the nearby park. Hanging up the leash almost absently, he glances at the kitchen clock, his thoughts on Ruth and their plans for the evening. A movie, late dinner. Bed. But not, he thinks, a sly smile spreading across his face, necessarily in that order. When his mobile vibrates against his chest a few seconds later, he reaches into it without reading the display. "I'm on my way," he says.

"He knows."

His stomach lurches, the full implication of the two words immediately, painfully, clear. "When?"

"About an hour ago."

He finds his voice if not exactly his breath. "How is he?"

"How would you be? If your mother had just told you that she had cancer?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment. "I want to see him."

"Now?"

"Yes. Unless," he adds a bit more softly, "he said he'd rather be alone. Has he?"

Jane takes her time answering. "He hasn't said much of anything." Her uncharacteristic sigh that follows is not lost on Harry. And in that moment, all the unhappy memories, harsh words and frustration with his former wife recedes. "I wish," he begins, and then stops abruptly. Instead he asks gently, "where is he now?"

"In his room," she replies just as softly. "Perhaps," she adds uncertainly, "a visit would be good. I …don't know."

"I'm coming over. I should be there within the hour. Less actually."

"I'll tell him to expect you then. But if he says he'd rather be alone, then …"

"Yes. Of course. I understand."

Little else is said after that. In moments, Harry has rung off and is speaking with Ruth and sending his regrets. "Oh God, Harry," she says. Her concern is almost palpable, and he can easily picture her expressive eyes filled with emotion. "Don't worry about dinner," she goes on, "just let me know how it goes. Please."

"I will."

"I love you," she says softly.

"Yes. I love you, too."

On the drive there, his thoughts are consumed with what to say to his son who has just found out his mother has cancer. And most likely, terminal. Nothing he can think of to say or do seems right. He sighs heavily. As much as his relationship with Jane a difficult one, he is genuinely sorry for her illness. And wishes that he could wave a magic wand and make her well. He's also struck and not for the first time, by her stoicism. He might not like her very much at times, he knows, but he cannot deny her strength of character. In many ways in fact, he finds much about her to admire. Her integrity. Honesty. And courage. And not looking for pity. Carrying on.

Not for the first time, he shakes his head at the inequities of life. A moment later the house comes into view, and he sighs again, his thoughts now turning back to Graham. What to say. How to act. How to-

He decides on the one thing that he can do. Be there. For his son. And hope for the best. And hope that telling Graham the truth about Jane was the right call, after all. No, he sternly reminds himself, now is not the time to second-guess oneself. That way he knows, lies madness. And feeling much like a sailor lost at sea, he rings the doorbell.

He is about to ring again when the door slowly opens. Much to his surprise, Graham is standing there, holding fast to his stick with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Graham," He says.

"Come." Graham says, stepping a bit aside. "In."

He enters, his eyes never leaving his son. Harry notices that Graham is wearing the t shirt that Ruth purchased for him on her birthday, the one with the iconic image of the Beatles crossing Abbey Road. Harry lifts his eyes back to Graham. "How are you?"

He shrugs.

Harry looks past him. There is no sign of Jane, the house silent. Still. As if it is waiting for Harry to say something. Do something.

"Her room." Graham says, breaking into Harry's thoughts.

"I see," he says.

"Yes."

"She told you I was coming?"

Graham nods.

"I…."

"Yes." Graham says. Then shakes his head. And taking a shaky breath, stares back at Harry.

"I'm sorry, Graham. About your mother. So sorry. More than I can say." And he places a hand on Graham's shoulder.

The young man makes a sound halfway between a strangled sigh and a cry. Then looks away for a moment and straightens up as much as he can.

Harry nods his head for a moment, and when he looks back, Graham's eyes are filled with tears. "Mum," is all he says.

Harry nods. "Yes. But she is receiving treatment. And ..."

Graham shakes his head, tears now spilling wantonly down his cheeks. "Mum, "he chokes out, again, "Mum."

Squaring his shoulders, Harry moves in as close as possible and wraps his arms around Graham. For a moment, no one moves. Then Graham returns the embrace, his heartache muffled by the beating of his father's heart.

* * *

After, both sit next to one another in Graham's room, Harry's old office. Each are peering at the monitor. "I'm sure you can handle it," Harry says, leaning in a bit more and squinting, " but to me this sounds more like Sumerian rather than chemistry. Oh, perhaps," he says, wryly, "chemistry is more like Sumerian to me."

Graham chuckles. "Chemistry is fun."

"For you, maybe. But for..." Harry stops short. "Graham," he says, his eyes wide, "you just said a complete sentence. Do you realise that?"

Graham swivels in the chair and faces Harry. "I did?"

"You did it again," Harry says, clasping him on the shoulder. "Just now. Again. Twice, in fact. "

Graham nods, smiling. "I know. I ...am...better."

"You_ are_ better. In so many ways." Harry says, blinking rapidly. He clears his throat as well. " And I know I sound like a broken record, but .."and he stops, clearing his throat again..

In the ensuing silence Graham says, "Record is broken. Really."

"Hmmm?"

"You never. Finished. Now. What you ...saying." And he chuckles.

Harry stares for a moment, nonplussed. Then his face lights up. " Ah. I get it. Finally. I never actually finished what I was saying. And you want me to, don't you?"

Graham nods. grinning. "Always."

"Well, ok. Ok." He says and grins back. Then he studies the young man before him, turning serious before he speaks. "I'm proud of you. What you've accomplished. Still accomplishing. Relearning everything. And now going back to school. Pre-Med, no less. I ..." He swallows and shakes his head. "I..." and gives up, finding it impossible to continue. All the years of anguish about his son. All the wrong choices. Harsh words. Words unsaid. And long absences. All wash away in that moment as Harry, his hand still on Graham's shoulder, struggles to damn the surging tide of emotions threatening to spill over. But it is futile. Too many years. Too much heartache. And now pride and joy. In his son. His beloved son. Mutely, he stares across at Graham. And when the damn finally, unequivocally breaks, this time it is the son whose heart reaches out to his father...


	24. Chapter 24

_From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading and for your feedback for SINS 2. _

Disclaimer: Spooks and its characters, etc., is owned by Kudos.

And now without further ado, the epilogue.

**-6 months later-**

"No. Not straight. Let me."

"Ok," Harry says in defeat, turning from the mirror to face Graham. Handing his walking stick to his father, he reaches up to straighten the recalcitrant bow tie. After a few attempts, he shakes his head and pulls it loose. "No," he says, "not straight. At all. "

Harry huffs a bit, shifting first one foot then the other. "We're going to be late."

"Stop moving. And we are not. Late."

Harry stills, staring across at his son who painstakingly reties the bow using both hands. And from what Harry can see, is doing more than a credible job. A minute later, Graham gives the tie a final tug. "Perfect," he says, nodding his head in satisfaction.

Harry turns to the mirror, examining his son's efforts.

"See? Straight."

"Yes," he says, turning back to Graham. "It is, indeed. Thank you. I don't usually need help with these things. But for some reason... I..." And he shrugs.

Graham nods, a big smile on his face. "Nervous?"

"No." Harry replies. "Well, maybe. Just a bit." He glances down at his wristwatch, the same one his children had given his so many years ago. "I think we're running late, though. And..."

"Not late, "Graham says firmly. "On time." And when he smiles again, Harry marvels at how symmetrical it is in marked contrast six months ago when Graham was still in a wheelchair, and just beginning rehabilitation for his devastating stroke.

He stares at his son for a long moment before clearing his throat. "Have you heard from your mother?"

Graham nods. "Last night. Good lecture. She says 'good luck.' "

"Ah, yes. Tell her thank you. And I'm so glad that she's doing so well." And he smiles again.

"NED. Still," he adds.

"Yes. No evidence of disease," he says, marvelling as well at Jane's recent medical report. And shakes his head in wonder at it all.

And wonderful it is. Not long after Jane's initial treatment, her cancer had recurred. Although terrifying for his children (and he suspects for Jane who never wavered in her stoicism, at least outwardly), her cancer was subsequently pinpointed, surgically removed and irradiated. Soon after that, she was given the very best news possible for those with her disease: No Evidence of Disease. And in short order, was once again back at work, attending and giving seminars on her passion, education. And though her future is still uncertain, nevertheless, it is considerably brighter than it had been all those bleak months ago. All of which seemed to point to this day. This moment. _Another miracle,_ he thinks. And raising his hand to adjust his bow tie again, he drops it just in time at the look on Graham's face. "Amazing." He simply says, smiling at his son.

"Yes." Graham beams. "A miracle."

Harry nods silently. _ Jane. Graham. Catherine. Ruth. Today. Miracles. All._

* * *

"And something old as well?"

Ruth nods.

"What?"

"Um," she says, thinking of her_ mind the gap_ thong. "Underneath." And says nothing more, a faint blush already appearing on her checks.

Wisely, Catherine says nothing despite her smile. When Ruth turns around, the younger woman reaches up, picking a bit of lint from Ruth's hair now swept to one side, baby's breath holding it back.

"You look gorgeous," Catherine says.

"Thank you," Ruth replies, suddenly quite shy. Turning back to the mirror, she gives herself a final once over. Wearing a long flowing ivory dress and scalloped at the bottom, it fits as if it were made expressly for her. Her blue eyes sparkle, matching the colour of her sapphire pendant which rests on her gleaming skin, the sweetheart neckline a perfect cut for it. For the umpteenth time, she reaches up to adjust the flowers in her hair.

"Stop fidgeting, Ruth. You're perfect. Really."

"You sure?" she asks, her hand still poised over her flowers. "Quite sure?"

"Ruth," Catherine says, "my father is a lucky man."

On the brink so many times this morning, she blinks her eyes rapidly.

"Oh, don't cry! You'll mess up your make-up! And we really don't have time for me to apply it again."

Ruth nods, sniffles a bit, then straightens her back. "Thank you." She says simply. "For everything. It means so much having you here. And she stares meaningfully at Catherine. "I'm a lucky woman as well."

Catherine nods, beaming at her. "I'd say we're all lucky. In more ways than one. Wouldn't you?"

Before Ruth can answer, a sharp rap on the door startles both women. "It's time!" someone says from the other side, giving another rap on the door.

"Come on," Catherine says, laughing and gently tugging at Ruth's hand. "No backing out now."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she says, firmly. And when she smiles, it's as dazzling as the pendant around her neck.

* * *

Less than 10 minutes later, Catherine walks quietly down the winding staircase in the lovely country home, an approved venue for certain civil affairs. The room hushes. All rise from their seats, including a former physical therapist, her short blonde hair newly cut for the occasion.

Harry, waiting in front of the room with his son at his side, smiles at his daughter as she approaches. Joining her father and brother a few moments later, she takes her place next to them. And waits.

The music begins. If possible, the room grows even quieter. Even Scarlet minded by Malcolm in the first row, is on her very best behaviour, a white bow with baby's breath around her neck, courtesy of Catherine.

All look towards the staircase. And in moments, the object of everyone's attention finally appears. Slowly, she descends, one hand on the railing, the music gently accompanying her. Head held high, sapphire gleaming, her eyes lock onto Harry, flanked by his children.

The room appears to grow brighter. Glow.

Mesmerised, he continues to smile at her. And in moments, she is at last standing next to him. "Hello, gorgeous," he whispers, taking her hand. She colours slightly but manages to say, "Not bad yourself, handsome." Harry continues to beam at her.

The music stops. Still holding hands, both turn and face their guests who now settle into their seats. Eyes straight ahead, they wait. And are rewarded a moment later.

"Dearly beloved, friends and family. We are gathered here today for..."

**-the end-**

(or beginning...)

xo


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